#⎛ event ⎠ cyor ❲ mistified ❳

[blankticket]

@punisheye

The door was open.

Or, more accurately: the door had ceased to exist. Strange, delicate mists had crawled in from the side of it, eating away at what was physical a moment before. Where an unimpressed guard had sneered down at Vash, now there was the swirling unknown.

Without hesitation, he pressed on past where he was confined. His body had moved before he can think to note how scary this all is, before he could have the good sense to fear how the mist could be endless, his world eroded. Vash hasn't quite come to accept this complete upending of the laws of reality—it's just that he can still hear the Plant screaming for help, somewhere out there.

Turning his head this way and that to find her, Vash nearly bumps his face right into a wall of black. Instinctively, his hands come up to prevent the collision, although they're awkwardly successful by the restraints around his wrists.

The little boy winces, totters back a step, looks up at Wolfwood. His cuffed hands pull defensively toward his chest.

"Ah…" Now he's getting scared.

Wolfwood doesn't look familiar in any helpful way—he's clearly not a part of SEEDS, or a face he recognizes from Ship Five's cold-sleep registry. But he's also the only adult around… The only being around, besides his Plant brethren.

The assumption he'd be brought back into confinement by this man makes tears bead up in the corners of his eyes. He's got to be brave for her sake.

Vash's face wrinkles with effort, tiny lungs gathering air for his demand: "Let me meet the Plant!"

[astrallithid]

@viladlind

Running into the mists without any regard for consequences was, of course, a terrible idea. A great deal of Balduran's ideas were rather impulsive and poorly thought through, but of the recent impulsive decisions, this one was the worst. Where first there was joy, it had quickly faded into sorrow and fear- a sense of betrayal, just like before.

Ansur was as beautiful as Balduran remembered. Ansur who once loved him so dearly. Ansur who came to him in the night and had tried to kill him- because he no longer saw Balduran. A certain mix of madness and crushing understanding of the reality had ... had what? Made Ansur give up? Made him think that this was the only solution? Even now ... ❝ This is what you wanted- ❞ He'd reached out to take one of the dragon's clawed hands ⎛ Ansur had chosen the body of a dragonborn, perhaps to make things easier- perhaps to make them hurt all the more ⎠ and had placed it upon his cheek. Warm and human- ❝ Right? We both searched for ... something to turn back time ... ❞ Something to save me, even when I said I didn't want to be saved- even when I was numb to everything because I could not bear it ...

There's a moment where he dares to hope, where Ansur's expression softens and he brushes a thumb across Balduran's cheek. Yes, warm and human and as devastatingly handsome as the bronze dragon had remembered. As beautiful as the day he'd said farewell ⎛ for a time, not forever, Balduran had promised. I will be back soon- I will always come back to you. From Ansur's view, Balduran had lied ⎠ ; this was the person Ansur had fallen in love with. But it doesn't last.

"You cannot make me your thrall," comes the low growl, the clawed hand pulling away, leaving a scratch upon Balduran's cheek. When Balduran stumbles back, moves his hand to the cut, he stares at the blood he sees. A pale silver. ❝ Ansur, please! It isn't what you think- ❞ Gods, his head hurts and the world blurs, and it's different from before- it's not his bones breaking, it's his heart. It's not so much ceremorphosis as it is being able to feel the love, or lack thereof. Ansur doesn't see him, he only sees an illithid wearing the body of someone he loved-

He's going to kill me. Balduran doesn't have the Giantslayer this time ⎛ nor would he want to have it. Not for this- he never wanted to kill Ansur, he simply wanted to live- ⎠ and it leaves him with few options. In the chaos of his thoughts, he senses someone familiar- it's Fiyero, wandering somewhere in the mists- and how he hates to drag the tiefling into this, but if he doesn't ...

Ansur will kill him. There's the sickening thought that Ansur might kill Fiyero, too, and Balduran was rather certain that he'd never forgive himself- and he still wanted to live. He can feel Fiyero's tadpole. He reaches out- Please- please help me-

[amoirsetpacis]

★ --;; Laughter, cold and harsh and horribly, horribly familiar in a way Vash desperately wishes it weren't, rings and reverberates through the fallen mist in a way that sends ice through his nerves and veins, sets a fire under the soles of his feet. All at once he's alone again in the veil of it all, and looking around wildly, trying to hone his senses in on any one point, leaves him still with the only option he's been able to take for so much of his life; run.

Towards it this time instead of away, despite the overwhelming dread seeping through his lumps and heart and lungs, filling them like so much cement trying to forcefully grind him to a halt. He doesn't let it, though-- he's here, that much Vash's successor had told him, that much Vash had been trapping tightly beneath his ribcage in the hopes that that fear would stay there, quiet, if only for a few more days. Until distance could be put, somehow, an excuse to try and rally himself together.

Seems he isn't getting the chance to do so.

The heavens fall out of the blank nothingness; as though the high rises of the city have been washed away with the damp there are no explosions to be had as starships that should not be here roar into existence, as they struggle to prevail against the inevitable collision with unforgiving earth, as they scream with the impact. They blip rapidly in and out of existence, distort themselves, as though they know they should not be here but have on other option other than to remain no matter how much they fight against it.

The laughter echoes again. A bullet rings, millimeters from his ear at zips by. Heart in his throat, Vash turns.

@cerebralbleu > @punishercross

[punisheye]

It's cold. It's really cold.

His thin black shirt and shorts do little to protect him from it. The chill seeps through the tight fabric and into his skin, right down to his bones. The fog is dense. He's never seen anything like it before. Just read about it in books. Their planet didn't have water to evaporate and then bring back as rainfall, or to cover the sands in a haze.

It makes him feel damp. He wishes he was at home, away from this. Maybe it's just another test from Chapel. Maybe that old man is watching him, somewhere out of sight. If he could figure out what the test is meant to be then he won't be as likely to walk out of here with bruises on his ribs or a bullet in his gut.

His hands grip the gun too big for his body tight. He's shivering.

And then he hears footsteps. The boy jerks his head up, eyes wide and alert and—

Oh, it's just... some guy. He doesn't recognize him. Well, he kinda looks like him, but maybe he's just got one of those faces. Maybe he's part of the Eye, too, and they just never crossed paths. Nico had learned to keep his eyes down in the presence of the adults there, so that's what he does.

Looks down, looks away. His hands hold the gun tighter. He waits for the man to leave.

@punishercross

[corvisque]

@viladlind

the outer limits of spirale always seem to be shrouded in a gossamer veil of light mist, so it is rather easy to overlook the fog that begins creeping its way into the city proper. zevran certainly doesn't notice it, at first. not until it becomes difficult to deny the prickling on the back of his neck that tells him something is very wrong. until he notices, with some alarm, that he cannot tell where the city ends and the mistwoods begin.

he curses. really, he does not understand why this island insists on pulling little tricks like these so often -- and just when he was on his way back home, too. his narrowed gaze scans the blank greyness surrounding him, as if he might actually be able to see something in the damp. either he is paranoid, which very well could be true, or there are eyes on him. he can feel them.

"zevran..."

the voice is quiet, melodic, and familiar. the voice of a woman. he does not answer; although, internally, his cursing has grown much more colorful. would it be foolish to draw a blade against a threat he cannot see?

but then she steps into his path, as if born from the very air around him. a short, elven woman, a face he knows far too well, for it is the same face that has been indelibly etched into his mind's eye for as long as he may live.

she was... a marvel. tough, smooth, wicked. eyes that gleamed like justice. everything i thought i desired.

"rinna." his voice nearly breaks. he nearly chokes on her name. rinna. rinnala. eyes still bright, still as beautiful as she once was, no longer a pale body devoid of life and spattered in blood. he thinks that if he were to touch her, she would be warm. but he doesn't move. he can't.

"you remember me?" she smiles, but it is not the kind smile he remembers from their days as children. it would be an ugly thing, were she not the one wearing it. empty, resentful, cruel.

of course he remembers her. how could he possibly forget? he wants to say something, anything, but when he opens his mouth to speak no words come out. she draws closer to him, and closer still, until she is close enough to reach out, the tips of her fingers tracing the tattoo on his cheek.

"you remember what taliesen did to me," her voice now so low that it is nearly a whisper. "how he pulled my head back so he could slit my throat. you didn't do anything to help me. why?"

zevran closes his eyes. what can he say? that he thought she was a traitor? that being a crow had meant more to him than the woman he loved? that he had been afraid? all excuses, words that do not matter. words that cannot change anything.

"we were wrong," he croaks, finally. "i was wrong. i am so sorry, rinna."

when he opens his eyes, he is staring straight into hers. he had always found the sharpness of her gaze alluring. difficult to read, sometimes, but all the more captivating for its mystery. now she is all steel. hard. unyielding.

"you were. i tried to tell you. what did you say to me? that it did not matter? that you didn't care? i loved you. that was no lie."

the sharp edge of a knife pressed against his throat. so quick was she that he had not even noticed her movement until it was too late.

"but look at what the truth earned me. give me one good reason why i should not repay the favor."

he can't.

[grymfared]

When Malchior had first met Rorek, there had been mist- of course, since the dragon had made his home in the mountains, the ruins of some old kingdom of the earth with a name long forgotten. It was his own magic that kept it shrouded from humans, because humans could never understand. Except Rorek, brilliant and curious. An eager student once he realized that Malchior had more to offer him than the kingdom of Nol ever could- Rorek could've been a dragon himself, if not for the fact that he was very much not. Rorek had been happy, or at least Malchior had assumed such, during their years together- years that he often thought of- memories that he grasped at, because he needed to- he needed to hold on.

But even the memory of dragons could fade.

It was in the mists that the memories came flooding back. A young mage runs past him- or rather, through him, with a bright smile- so this was it, the workings of a spell that he should've known, but for some reason could no longer recall. Since his arrival in Spirale, he had found that there was a great amount of magic that he had yet to learn- and if nothing else, he intended to do so.

A memory spell- it had to be something of the sort, because he couldn't see it as anything other than that. Here he was, looking back at the past- although, it wasn't really just that. There are things that he doesn't remember- things that he yearned would have come to pass.

Magic is a miracle, he once said to the wizard, but it is not omnipotent. We must exist in harmony with it- Rorek had stared at him rather blankly. "I know that. I didn't gain the title or Archmage by not existing in harmony with magic." Rorek was young, then. A human of nineteen sent to slay the dread dragon of the mountains- "I will not kill you," Rorek had said, closing his tome and opening his arms, "Walk among humans with me, or allow me to stay here, hidden in the mountains. I have been lonely. I think you have been lonely, too."

Malchior had always been drawn to other lonely souls. Those who were misunderstood, those who had yet to find their path- that was why he'd been so taken by Raven. She, much like Rorek, had a potential that had not been seen among mortals since the age of the gods- Raven had been just as willing a student. But, she was also a teenage girl who clung to the thing that gave her the most comfort at the time. Her tutor, the dread dragon.

There's a vision of a woman wearing white. She's older, but she's still Raven. She has Rorek's grimoire- she's using it as a focus for her immense magic. She's grown into it. She seems at peace- as much as she could be. When she finishes her spells, she closes the grimoire and holds it close to her chest. He hears her whisper 'thank you'. He notices that the grimoire shows no signs of responding to her. He is no longer there. She's healed from the wounds he left. ❝ How proud I am of you, sweet Raven, ❞ he says, and for a moment, he thinks that the woman in white hears him.

"Your new student- she's good," says a familiar voice. Malchior knows that this cannot possibly be real- Rorek is long since dead, but when he turns, the Archmage is there, young and full of life- "But then again, why wouldn't she be? She's learning from the best." He holds out a hand for Malchior to take. Warm, almost alive. A convincing tulpa. Malchior can't find a reason not to hold Rorek's hand. He bids farewell to the vision of Raven ⎛ he's still uncertain if he's seeing the future, or just what he hopes for. ⎠

Rorek gives his hand a gentle squeeze. Malchior follows him deeper into the mists.

[starlightdive]

@cerruleanmonarch

"Heartless! Heartless, and cruel, and- and- MEAN!" When Lucia stumbles into the clearing in the mist, she sees Lilli sitting in a field of flowers... and a small fairy, berating her.The hyur, for her part, doesn't seem bothered, instead looking mildly apologetic.

"If I'd known you were here, I would have called..."

"You never call, even back home! I ask and ask, and yet you never call for me! My ungrateful little sapling..." It's then that Lilli meets Lucia's gaze, an unspoken call for help in her eyes.

"Hey! Lucia!" Lilli waves her over, glad for the distraction. "I'd like you to meet-"

"And who is she?" Feo Ul puts their hands on their hips, looking Lucia up and down, fluttering in a circle around her, taking in her wings. "Is this why you haven't called me?! In your time away, you've found a new pixie to replace me?!"

[railheist]

Shoot! She thought she had him dead to rights, or just straight dead. Apparently not, though.

Once she catches her breath, she dusts off her sleeves and reloads her rifle, just as determined as ever.

"Right," she says. "I'll keep him distracted. Get outta here, Blue!" She can't risk him getting hurt.

Rifle at the ready, Maria steps cautiously through the fog, ready to fire at a moment's notice. Where can that bottom-feeder be?

yumine does as instructed. The covering of ears isn't enough to drown out the sound, but it's muffled enough by her sensitive ears. the smoke clears and in the handler's place is just an empty spot. He must have dodged quickly. He may not be one that belonged in this world, but he wasn't going to get himself shot on the spot.

He has his own gun and he's hidden, but his hiding is no match for Yumine's hearing.

She hears the cocking of the familiar gun and is quick to push both her and Maria out of the way!

"He's hiding," She warns. "Maria...I know his weaknesses...I-I'll find him. Just keep him stalled. He won't know where I am once I'm in air."

[isolaradiale]

for the choose your own rerun event, is it just muses who BELIEVE the city is different from what they see (e.g. mistified mists, S.H.O.R.E. islands, homeworlds in homecoming) or do physical changes happen to the city as well? i guess my question is, do the effects from the events we pick only affect our muses mentally/physically/emotionally, or are there actual areas in the city under the effect of event AOEs depending on what events muses picked?

Hey anon!

As all event reruns are, the CYOR will take place in the Intraspace in a digital reconstruction of the city. Normally, all characters participating would be placed in the same simulation, but for this everyone will be in their own unless they're participating in the same event or are threading with you for your event of choice (since you can participate in multiple so everyone has writing partners, but you can only claim participation for one).

Within that simulation the conditions of the city at the time of the event (barring any redesigned wards) will be replicated exactly, and this includes any events where the locations didn't technically take place in the city. Your muses won't realize they are in a simulation, however.

All that said, you don't really need to sweat the small stuff and just enjoy your event of choice! The actual city won't be affected at all, and people can still do normal threads in it as if nothing is happening!

-- the island stars.

[amoirsetpacis]

★ --;; This isn't.... it's not new, but that doesn't stop the rapid descent of mist and fog from striking a chill through the entirety of Vash's body. If anything, after the few moments it takes for the recognition to settle in, that same recognition is exactly what makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The sudden flood of it, roiling and descending as though in a dream, is familiar in a way he so much wish it wasn't.

"Just once," Vash huffs quietly to himself, as if trying to distract himself from the buzzing of his nerves beneath his skin, "Just once, could I catch a break?"

So much pain, blinding light. A memory like his is both a blessing and a curse, so many things so crystal clear-- it had only been a short time ago, at least sin comparison to the rest of his life, but the memory of the last time this mist had cut through bone and sense still sits so vividly behind his eyelids.

He doesn't know where anyone else is. Doesn't know what they might see. What might see them.

Moving. He's got to move. If he keeps standing here as he is, he won't find anyone. He's good at moving, he reminds himself. Good at channeling movement into his feet, quickly, instead of the spiraling of so many thoughts.

But as he does, it doesn't take long for voices to be heard. Or-- a voice, rather. Stern and harsh and biting. The sound of a bullet ricocheting off the pavement.

Vash's feet choose the direction to carry him in, without second thought.

@punisheye

[astrallithid]

Once an adventurer, always an adventurer- Balduran's instinct was, of course, to rush into the mists when he saw them, because of course it was. Reckless, his mother had called him, but full of curiosity. Just like your father. He knew that was why she was afraid- his father had died at sea when he was young- and she simply didn't want to bury her son. A good mother, Ishara was. And a good father Algernon had been. Balduran owed quite a bit to his parents. There were often times where he would wonder if they would be ... what would they think of what he'd become? He could only assume they'd be saddened- horrified- which had been the reaction most people had to the truth. Not that he could blame them. He'd heard that people could vanish in the mist- and a part of him saw it as a form of freedom. So he ran headfirst into it.

It came with aches and pains- flickering memories in no real chronological order- but he'd learned time was not a real thing. It passed differently for everyone. He saw his childhood, he saw the ocean. He saw himself buying his first sword. He threw a ball and Rascal went after it, the dog returning the ball quickly, tail wagging with delight. Everything all at once, but it wasn't so hard to process. This was how illithids saw the world; saw infinity. It was perhaps the one beautiful thing that existed for them. Otherwise, they suffered in their own ways. They chose cruelty over kindness. Better to be feared than to be loved, because no one would love them. Sometimes, they'd find fake love. Fake love was better than nothing at all.

Yes, the mists felt familiar, but not nearly as freeing as he thought.

After a time, Balduran realized that he was not alone in the mist- and not all that he saw had been memories that he recalled. His hand moved instinctively to his abdomen when he saw the flash of a blade, the face of someone he thought he could trust. They're in the astral plane. Vlaakith has ordered his death; they try to deliver. He sees Orpheus and the infernal chains. They hold the Orphic Hammer. He flees to seek the nothingness of the Netherbrain. It can't see a difference between mothers- mothers that welcome back their wayward children. This is the only way it knows. It tries to forget Balduran. When the final blow lands, it can't remember much about the adventurer with the brown hair and the forest green tunic, and that's for the best.

None of this had happened as far as he knew. He fought to keep whatever was left of Balduran, because if he didn't have that, what would he have? It was because he had fragments of who he used to be that there was any chance that he could be a little less lonely. It was when he forgot those parts that the love faded. It was when he let himself search for some semblance of acceptance that he'd lost the most important thing he had.

Wasn't that the night he lost Ansur's love? Ansur, his soulmate. Ansur who had taken him from Moonrise and sheltered him in the Wyrmway. Ansur who tried so hard ... Ansur who had come with a blade, sorrow in his heart fading into nothingness. Ansur only saw a monster that needed to be put down ...

There's a figure in the mists.

Dear Ansur...

[astrallithid]

CHOOSE YOUR OWN EVENT! MISTIFIED ⎛ INFO POST! ⎠

ok, this one is going to be so, so, so fun for balduran! and by fun, i mean soul crushing. sure, he wanders around per usual, but as an adventurer at heart, of course he ventures into the mist! which is bad, because he gets some nasty experiences.

residual data imprints:

the free orpheus path. balduran gets to watch everyone he had started to trust ... betray him. it's a huge risk, freeing orpheus, and balduran knows orpheus will probably kill him. he sees himself returning to the netherbrain, because he feels like he's out of options.

literally any path where people decide to be awful to their dream guardian. he sees the blade go through his chest ... he tries to convince himself that's not how it is ...

but it's not all shitty. he also gets to relive his best adventures! he remembers laughing with his crew. he remembers flirting with people, finding new things. he gets to see the beauty of anchorome again. he also may get to see memories of his parents :)

also traveling with the team ... and shoutout to the hug :)

sentient data imprints:

ansur. which is the real problem. ansur is balduran's soulmate- he has never loved anyone like he loved ansur, and he will never love anyone that way ever again. not because he doesn't want to, but because he can't. you've gotta understand, ansur found balduran in a group of illithids- he KNEW which one was balduran. they must've had a magic soul bond. but despite this ... ultimately ansur chose to try to mercy kill balduran.

essentially, ansur is the only huge sentient data imprint ( with an entire arc already plotted out), but now balduran has to deal with this- deal with the fact that even in his human form, it doesn't mean ansur loves him again. ansur sees him as something that needs to be put out of its misery. ansur can't see him as balduran anymore.

but for a treat there may also be little kid balduran, he's adorable ... he's 10 and wants to be a great adventurer...

and maybe his mother and father-

balduran is mostly having a bad time, but there's more character growth to be had.

[astrallithid]

Once again, Fiyero surprises him- in a way that makes him think that he should expect this of her, but time and time again- ah, she surprises him with kindness. With love- and it's been so long, hasn't it? The first time she'd hugged him he'd thought of Belynne- and how long ago it was that anyone had held him close. When he spoke of the kindness of the embrace, he had truly thought of Ansur- What he shared with Belynne was not the same warmth- his only thrall, even then the bond was peculiar. Theirs was a practical sort of love, a practical thralldom. It hadn't been born of the same wonder and magic as the love that blossomed between himself and Ansur, or himself and Fiyero- Belynne had seen Balduran- the illithid- as a challenge to overcome. Oh, but Fiyero asks him to be himself.

Show yourself to me, she says. If you're to love me, you must do it as yourself.

It's easy to let the memories flow between them, to let the world fall away. He knows Ansur is watching, too. Fiyero wants to know him- and Balduran wants to prove to her that she can trust him, and that for all of the secrets he kept, he would one day be able to share them all. He knows the memories will be fragmented, out of order, because he hasn't dared look back on them, either- not like this.

⎛ He shows Fiyero a vision of himself on the Wandering Eye, surrounded by others- they're laughing and looking over old maps. He's charted a course for Anchorome- he wants to be the first to see it. He shows her the memory of an elven wizard with chestnut hair, dressed in Selûnite robes- Dradeel, the elf introduces himself as, and Balduran's heart flutters. The same elf is with him as he continues his journey. They travel through Anchorome hand in hand.

He shows Fiyero his meeting with Ansur- how he arrived to meet the great bronze dragon dressed only in a plain tunic and pants. Unarmed, to show that he was not here in search of treasure- no, he sought something else. The Ansur in his memory regards him with a strange awe. Balduran speaks of a city that he dreams of. They will need a guardian to protect them. He is only human, and he is a wanderer- the city he wishes to build needs a 'heart'. A legacy. There's lightning, and when Balduran opens his eyes again, a bronze dragonborn stands before him with a smile on his face. Yes, the memory of Ansur says, I will be your heart, your legacy. He needs not show it to Fiyero for her to know that this- or somewhere in all of this- Balduran decided to walk the path of a paladin instead of a pirate.

He shows her Moonrise Towers as it was when he first ventured there. The Shadow Curse had not yet ravaged the land, the Thorm family still followed Selûne, and wasn't that why they built Moonrise Towers? As a gift for their goddess? Old habits certainly died hard- he'd learned of something at Moonrise Towers that called to him- almost as strong as the call of the sea. There's something floating in the distance. The memory of Balduran follows an unknown spectre into the depths.

Then, there's darkness- because it was messy and ugly and he'd thrashed and screamed and cried- Ansur! Ansur, where are you? Don't leave me alone, don't leave me like this- eventually, his sobs turn into gasps, and then soft breaths- then nothingness.

He shows her his memory of Ansur charging through the colony, the other startled illithids proving no match for the dragon's claws and lightning breath- he pulls from Ansur's memory the vision of an injured illithid holding a resonance stone. Ansur picks this illithid up and flies far away. The illithid holds onto the resonance stone until they land. It knows this dragon. It doesn't remember how they met, but it knows this dragon- it loves this dragon. It loves.

He sits in the Elfsong Tavern in plain adventurer's clothes- to the rest of the world, he seems to be just another traveler, but Belynne knows. When they drink together, it's almost like they're truly some strange domestic political couple. He knows better. She knows better, too. They debate and argue and laugh and then they fight- and she breaks. He doesn't know how to save her. When he thinks he's found something, when he's so close to knitting her mind back together, he's dragged away, thrown back into the abyss.

The Elder Brain sends a group of illithids to find a powerful artifact. All but one die on the journey. The Astral Prism pulses with a gentle warmth in familiar hands. ⎠

When the visions fade, he floats before her. That was the thing about illithids- they never had their feet on the ground. As if to mark them as aberrations that had no place among others, they had no reason to walk with other beings. Balduran had tried to run, once, late at night on a beach under Ansur's careful watch. He hadn't taken more than three steps before he'd flown instead.

There is much I cannot tell you, still, comes his thoughts- a voice that was his, and yet also the voice of something else- but one day ... one day I hope to be able to do so without fear.

He feels Ansur approaching- tenses for a moment before realizing that the dragonborn has only chosen to take his hand and hold it. As if to keep him from drifting away. How easy it would be for him to go wherever the wind wished to take him- Ansur, my heart, my legacy- and Fiyero, my hope, my freedom- He makes a sound not unlike a purr- because illithids didn't have the ability to speak aloud, to laugh, to smile- but it was about as close as he could get to it. And wasn't he happy? Happy to have closure, happy to have love- happy to not feel so afraid.

in this plane that balduran creates with his mind, fiyero's eyes are open. watching from afar, like watching a play on a stage, the dialogue ringing clearly in her ears despite the distance between them. she can hear his words as he thinks them, directed at ansur. she feels the emotions he sends across the bond, trying to reach the dragonborn, loving and devoted. perhaps that's because of the tadpole, the connection between her and her guardian that is now so much stronger without the stars suppressing it.

   it's a strange sensation, to stand in a plane that isn't material, to feel emotions that aren't hers. she thinks she can even feel the edges of ansur's response. the dark mist that surrounded all of them has all but dissipated, leaving only the open sky. a promise of freedom.

   it gives her fleeting hope. so many things that balduran does give her fleeting hope. more than anything, she wants it to stick around.

   it feels inevitable, when he joins her side. he isn't there and then he is, and his hands are warmer when he picks up her own. fiyero stares down at where they're touching, remembers that very first time, when she accepted the hand that was offered to her. she's always been so terribly weak to a pretty face, even the one of corher. she's always been easy to persuade with a gentle touch.

   his voice rings in her mind and she tilts forward, tucks her face against his shoulder, into the crook of his neck. stays there, looking down at their hands, in silence as he speaks.

   and how he speaks.

   personhood, to her, is perhaps the most important thing in all the realms. fiyero believes that people are people, and that whether they do good or bad, they remain just that at their core— a person. a mortal. she was never terribly interested in the affairs of gods, threw aside the faith she was taught, worshipping the seldarine, as soon as she left dovesong. she turned to lathander instead, god of dawn, god of hope, god of new beginnings.

   that's why, at the end of it all, balduran scares her. because he is not mortal, not anymore. he was changed. he represents something entirely out of her reach, something she was told is dangerous and not trustworthy. and yet he's still a person, somebody that touches her gently, somebody that says she reminded him of the new beginning he could have, even in this form.

   who is she to say he won't live up to it? who is she to reject him before he's had the chance to prove it to her? there will always be a line, but he hasn't reached it yet. instead, he reassures her where it's needed, promises her worlds beyond her comprehension.

   she shakes her head softly, though she doesn't lift it from where it's resting against balduran. replies through their connected minds, careful, like a newborn fowl. i don't need the worlds beyond. they sound nice, certainly, they sound stunningly beautiful. to think that balduran would want to use his powers to give fiyero something she could otherwise never achieve? it startles her, the huge amount of trust that waves over their bond. for him to reveal himself like this, to talk of his ceremorphosis so openly. she knows it scared him before, terribly so. she knows she gave him no reason to be open about it.

   it underlines the confession, the warmth rushing through her, such a stark contrast to the cold mist. her tears drying on her face, she nuzzles into his shoulder. i only need you to be yourself.

   loves comes to her so easily. she thought she'd know its shape, whatever form it takes. whatever balduran gives her, it's different. it's new. she wonders, a question that can't be hidden between them now, if it's even possible for her own love to be enough for him. if she ever fully gives herself to him, will he be sated?

   she likes to think the answer is yes, listening to him now.

   ' show yourself to me, ' comes muttered, solemn. ' as i've shown myself to you. your ansur, your belynne. who you've loved, who you are. what you've done. if you're to love me, ' with her head finally raising so she can bump her horns into his cheek, ' you must do it as yourself. do not hide away from me anymore. i want to see you. '

[astrallithid]

Ever since his ceremorphosis, Balduran had moments where he struggled to really find the right words. The genuine ones- not the sweet talk he used to get where he wanted and what he wanted. There were no words he could say out loud that would be sufficient for this- to explain a love that was so much more than love. He's relieved when Ansur an Fiyero let him in. It will be easier this way- won't it?

He's practiced when it comes to this- to creating the world in his mind- the world he can show to others. Illithids had an interesting way of seeing the world, because they saw infinity. That had not changed when he woke in Spirale. He saw the potential of what things could be. Where others would see the red of a rose, he saw the story that it had to tell- the very core of the concept. Without the Stars to hold him back, Balduran could extend that ability to others-

In his mindspace, Balduran looks healthier, sun kissed, somewhat ruffled as if he'd just come back from one of his many adventures at sea- there's starlight in his hair. It's the echo of his soul- voyager of the astral sea. He looks at Ansur and sees the wind and the waves. It's a feeling of freedom. Looking at Ansur feels like a weightlessness, as if all of the worries of the world had faded away. You are the wind in the sails, the stars above- my heart, my soul, my legacy. You are the greatest thing to ever happen to me, my dear Ansur-

Ansur lets out a soft gasp when Balduran allows him to see infinity. It makes him wonder why he thought Balduran had lost his soul in the first place. When he took Balduran from the colony, he'd looked at Ansur with such love, even when he couldn't quite remember what had happened- "Is this what you saw all along?" Yes. I had always wondered what it would feel like to fly. I asked you to fly free because I ... I didn't want you to have to settle for what I am. "It isn't settling if it's love, my Balduran- and you will always be that, won't you? No matter where the winds take you-" Balduran holds onto Ansur, as if it would be the last time that they'd ever be able to hold each other. Perhaps it would be.

Know that even if I am not by your side, I will always have been your Balduran. The words he'd written, now spoken into Ansur's mind. Spoken with love and devotion and a promise of some form of eternity. Balduran's soul was not so ruined as he thought. He would always be able to carry the love of his soulmate with him.

The dragonborn nuzzled against Balduran before the adventurer pulls away ⎛ and would it really be the last time? Maybe a miracle would change that ⎠ - after all, this wasn't only about him. There was the tiefling who Balduran had also brought to this world that he had built in his mind-

Fiyero, my freedom, my savior, when he looks at her, he sees pathways to many worlds- He'd once told her that it was because of her that he was able to have a second chance. He moves to sit by her side, to take her hands in his ⎛ warm now, human- because wasn't that who he was? Under all the things that had been done to him, after all the changes, he was still Balduran- ⎠ I would love to travel the world with you, he says in her mind, I would take you to worlds beyond- I want you to be able to experience infinity, and I want you to be you. He knows she's so worried about the tadpole- about maintaining her own personhood- One day, if you'll allow it, I can show you all that I see- and you won't have to face any ceremorphosis. You showed me that there is still more for me to explore in the world. I had been close to giving up-

When he'd first met Fiyero, he wore the face of her former fiancee. He was a reminder of her time in Dovesong- of a life that wasn't really hers. A life where she had to pretend to be someone she wasn't. Looking back, he should've come to her like this. She spent a fair amount of time in Waterdeep, so it wouldn't have been such a risk. He'd lived so long ago that the only likenesses remaining were weather-worn statues and various sketches- none of which were consistent. He should've come to her as he was, because he had no right to tie her back to a person that was not her. Mallenor was a product of True Polymorph. Even that could never change who a person was at their core.

Through traveling with you, I've had the chance to feel free. You've given me more time to feel human again. I didn't realize how much I missed it until we met. She's infinite possibilities, she's the laughter of friends sitting around a campfire. She's the curiosity that drove him to see more and more- in a way, she's the treasure he was searching for in Moonrise. Yes, she was well worth the wait. ❝ Awful as it was, if it took ceremorphosis for me to meet you, to be at your side, I would suffer it infinitely, ❞ This, he speaks out loud- speaks with a love that was so much more than love- ❝ I will not blame you if you don't believe me, if you can't trust me. All I can do is work hard to be better, to be someone even half worthy of that trust- ❞ What he means is 'I would never ask you to settle for an illithid as a partner, as any sort of precious thing in your life, but no matter your views of me, I will always love you, and more.'

it's still unbearable to grapple with this feeling of uselessness, as long as she's been on this island. at one point or another throughout her travels back home, fiyero had grown accustomed to leadership. it wasn't something she would have chosen for herself, but once the mantle was on her shoulders, there was no real way for her to deny it. because balduran had told her the fate of faerûn rested in her hands, but perhaps even moreso because her friends were relying on her. being trusted so, what else was she going to do?

   it took time, to grow into the role. and she had not succeeded yet, was torn from her world before she could get close to removing those tadpoles. in truth, she isn't even sure if everything else on their path was terribly important to her. it felt good, to help people. it felt right.

   but didn't she always have the convenient excuse of we're already here? we might as well?

   is that still good?

   she cured the shadow-cursed lands because she needed to. it was a step towards reaching that final goal, freeing her party of the tadpoles. would she still have done it, if she didn't need to?

   all of her dedication, and it leaves her here. without her friends, without her allies, sitting on the floor of a forest surrounded by mist. all of her abilities at her disposal, and they weren't good enough. back home, fiyero has not won. and this does not feel like a victory either, just another thing out of her hands, spiralling from her grasp.

   she sits and she cries, leaves her gaze somewhere it isn't looking at balduran and ansur. their conversation drifts past her. it's not hers to have, a part of balduran that was revealed by the stars forcing his hand. he had called for her, but she's not sure he would have told her if he had a choice. some part of her feels petulant about it. isn't he powerful? aren't his abilities returned, as well? if words get twisted instead, if ansur doesn't see reason ...

   all this talk of protecting her. he should prove it.

   wiping her palm across one cheek, fiyero thinks balduran nudging at her mind should startle her. it doesn't. it feels blessfully familiar, like returning to a place she knows intimately. she had told him that she missed it, sharing like this with him, and that was nothing but honesty. as complicated as her feelings are, it no longer feels as intrusive as it first did. balduran asks. balduran pleads.

   she finally blinks and looks up, though she doesn't need him to return the gaze to realize his intentions. she feels them, as she feels her own feelings, and that's so much warmer than his grey skin underneath her touch. it softens her, all the cold stubbornness clinging to her. taking a deep breath in, she drags both hands across her face and sits up straight, closes her eyes.

   she lets him in.

go on, then. prove it.

[astrallithid]

Oh, the way Fiyero looked at him made Balduran's heart do ... something, a flutter, an ache- he loves her so, so much. He can't leave her alone for long, but he also can't stay away from Ansur. Ansur, his heart, his legacy- Don't do anything foolish, guardian, Fiyero says, and Balduran wishes he could kiss her. Maybe later ⎛ maybe in her dreams, because what if his symptoms just got worse? ⎠ - ❝ I promise, ❞ he says, and what he means is 'I love you.' He means 'I will always come back to you.'

When he tries to go to Ansur, he stumbles- he'd taken quite a bit of damage from the lightning, although thanks to Fiyero, the pain was less. If not for the dragonborn rushing forward to catch him, Balduran would've had a messy encounter with the dirt. Instead, he found himself supported by a sturdy embrace. "You're ..." Ansur looks at Balduran like he's the most precious thing in the world- and wasn't that how they used to be? Long ago in lives they both mourned-

❝ Still here, still me- I guess ... or, as close as I can be- ❞ He's so tired, tired of the sorrow, tired from the battle- tired of running from the past. This is the only closure he'll ever get, isn't it? But hells, he needs it. ❝ I know you wanted me to be the same person I was before I left, ❞ That was the issue, wasn't it? Ansur was so very stubborn- "You grew more distant by the day, you were frightened- I thought that was what you wanted, to go back-"

Balduran had wished, for a time, to turn back time, to prevent himself from running off to Moonrise Towers, but as time passed, he realized that this was his new reality. As awful and hellish as it was, there was no going back. ❝ No one ever really goes back ... to the way they once were. Not after something like that ... ❞ He looks over then to Fiyero, wonderful Fiyero who he would never have met if Ansur had found some miracle cure- beautiful Fiyero who sat and wept ⎛ and how his heart ached- ⎠

"You love her," Ansur says, and it isn't a question, it isn't an accusation. It's simply an observation. ❝ Yes, more than I could ever hope to describe in words- but it does not mean that I love you any less. Will you let me show you? ❞

There's a soft glow in his eyes, a surge of illithid power. It gently brushes against Ansur's psyche, asking for entry. He also reaches out to Fiyero's mind- he wants to show her, too. Please, please let me show you. I love you.

Ansur breathes, tenses- Balduran or not, this was still illithid power- but when he saw that look of adoration on his beloved adventurer's face, he knew that there was nothing to fear. With a soft smile of his own, he lets Balduran in.

there are things at play here that are larger than fiyero. there are hints and clues that she could start putting together. certainly, she's listening, and whatever information comes of it will be tucked away to eventually share with her friends. the mind of a leader does not rest, only that it does, because there are things at play here that make fiyero feel small, and alone, and weak.

   traits of a mortal walking amongst higher beings. is that what balduran is? other mindflayers would certainly describe themselves as such, obsessed with the furthering of their own kind. but time and time again, balduran had done the opposite. she was never truly certain for whose sake, never sure of his intentions. perhaps she never will be, perhaps she doesn't need to be.

   perhaps this is enough: balduran reaches out and gives her a piece of himself. what fiyero has done so many times, often unwillingly so, he surrenders in turn. his breath, his heartbeat, his life flows into the tiefling to keep her upright. it doesn't feel good, not the way her own magic does. it's not the rays of the sun peeking above the horizon. it is heavy, and it tastes like something fiyero has never tasted. she feels dizzy with the weight of it, holds onto balduran a little tighter as her body adjusts. it's not healing so much as it is replacing what was wrong with her, taking a puzzle piece and finding a different one that fits just as well. her tense muscles relax a bit, her mantle of majesty finally fizzles away unknowingly.

   it's a moment of recovery that the dragonborn could have taken to finish them off, both of them sharing in a hurt to try and stay conscious. he doesn't. the man that balduran calls ansur talks with much less anger in his voice, and fiyero's gaze drifts to the ground underneath them, trying to find her rapier. she'd dropped it at some point, hadn't she? perhaps with that last attack, her fingers no longer listening to her. she needs to pick it up. she needs to pull herself together. she needs to—

   the storm subsides. she blinks up at the sky, tries to see through the layers of mist. balduran takes her hand in his own and fiyero startles, had forgotten her own touch because he's so frigidly cold underneath her. i wish i could do more for you.

   a tadpole in her brain. her hands, still trembling from the aftershocks of so much lightning driving through her system. her vision blurring every now and then, her heart beating so loudly that it's harder to hear him over the pulse of it. doesn't he always wish he could do more for her?

   ' i can't deny you. ' it's rasped, vulnerable, a wound opened. he says he needs to talk, and fiyero thinks that an incredibly stupid idea. but they're not dead. and perhaps they can remain that way, if they don't mess it up in one way or another that fiyero has certainly done before. a leader, and still so terribly inexperienced. a lover, and still so afraid to close the distance between them entirely. she does it anyways, her other hand driving over his armour that still stings from leftover electricity. she leans up and bumps her forehead against his.

   ' don't do anything foolish, guardian. ' a warning as much as it is a plea. fiyero untangles herself from balduran, tries to sit more upright on her own. ' go on. ' her hand drifts across the grass underneath until it bumps against the gold of her rapier, and the firm hold she has around it makes her feel better. she watches as balduran parts, gets up and turns to do what he'd told her. to talk.

   she sits, knowing that she should get up. that she should heal herself further, still feeling like her bones were hollowed out. that she should be ready to cast, or to draw her bow and arrow.

   fiyero sits, staring at her lap, and cries silently.

[astrallithid]

Balduran's certain that if Fiyero hadn't healed him earlier, he'd be dead. They'd both be. He'd almost forgotten Ansur's devastating power, and this was the awful reminder. Fiyero's bane was a saving grace, but it didn't fully stop Ansur. It's when Fiyero pulls away for a moment, rests her hand upon his cheek- when she asks for his help, that he notices that something else in the air has changed.

Even battle-weary, Fiyero is beautiful, rosy- like springtime, like young love. He can't really say the same for himself. Balduran has watched ceremorphosis before- not his own, but that of thralls in the colony, before he was taken away- and then when he was brought back. It was a horribly ugly thing, and a part of him wanted to allow her to make it dark not to escape, but just to spare her from seeing the rest of it- should the rest of it happen. For now, he knew he must've just looked a mess ⎛ at least he was still recognizably himself- pale green eyes and brown hair ⎠ ❝ Before we go anywhere, you'll need some healing- ❞ but, Balduran isn't a healer, not in any traditional manner. When he'd first undergone ceremorphosis, he'd lost the divine blessings that he'd earned from his time as a paladin ⎛ and hells, what he'd give to be able to just heal her up with a soothing lay on hands- ⎠❝ Here, you'll feel better after this, ❞

Transfuse health was always a little risky- a power possessed by illithids, but one Balduran hadn't used often- if at all- since he was taught it in the colony. It was meant to give life to another creature by sacrificing a part of his own- and certainly he felt it. Not that he minded, of course, because Fiyero was precious to him, and not in the way any illithid cared about a thrall. This was different. Balduran had never tried to share part of his life with Belynne, at least. The last person he'd wanted to share his life with was Ansur-

Ansur, who had simply stopped calling upon the lightning, because he had realized that maybe, just maybe- no, certainly- his soulmate existed still. His soulmate, who he had tried to put to death twice now. His soulmate who shared a piece of his life with the tiefling. His soulmate who then looked up at him with familiar green eyes and a small, sad smile-

"... Balduran," the dragonborn whispers, and it feels like the sun breaking through dark clouds when his lover lights up-

❝ Dear Ansur, ❞ comes Balduran's reply, and his heart feels lighter- there's an old familiar warmth. One that he held onto in his memories when he feared memories were all he had left-

"My Balduran-" Still, Ansur doesn't move toward Balduran, because Balduran has the tiefling cradled in his arms. It seems that the adventurer has a new lover. Not that Balduran hadn't taken lovers in the past- hadn't he been so very fond of that elven wizard? Dradeel had shared Balduran's bed almost as much as Ansur had, and while the dragon certainly coveted Balduran's love, he knew better than to try to hoard it.

With the storm subsiding, Balduran allowed himself to relax, just a little. He knows that Ansur is still nervous, and certainly Fiyero must be- this wasn't how he wanted her to find out, after all ⎛ even though he had hoped it would never come to light, it was impossible for that to really happen. He hadn't been able to hold Orpheus back, he hadn't been able to maintain the illusion and battle at the same time. He'd been on edge since- ⎠ But, her touch was warm and loving, and something about it made him feel human again. It was such a human thing to cradle a lover in his arms-

It made Ansur see a human instead of an illithid. It bought them all a little more time. Of course Balduran was glad to see that warmth in Ansur's eyes once more, but he still had to make sure Fiyero was alright before he could really think about any sort of closure. Ansur knew that, too. ❝ I wish I could do more for you, ❞ he says, taking Fiyero's hand in his own ⎛ and what he means is 'I wish I could be better, be human- let go of all of the lies I told myself. I wish I had been honest from the start, no matter the outcome.' ⎠ - it's such a contrast, isn't it? Her lively pinks against his dreary grey. ❝ I think ... we don't have to vanish in the darkness. Rest- let me talk to him- and then... ❞ then, he really had a lot of things to tell her, didn't he?

to trust balduran had been the first task he had given her, and the most difficult one. learning to fight was one thing, using her music to weave it into spells more suitable to a battlefield. figuring out how to position herself, learning the advantages and disadvantages of each of her companions. fiyero had no place or people to call her own for the better part of a decade and she turned into a formidable leader, capable of taking on the absolute and all its followers.

   and yet, however helpful he tried to be, there was always distance between them. secrets untold, history brushed aside. balduran had not even told her his name until their last conversation, revealing himself to be ilithid in almost the same breath. it had taken their unwilling journey to this island for him to start revealing more of himself. the powerful adventurer with her fiancé's face turned into somebody else. and still, she didn't know if she could trust him.

   to look past the tales even she was told from a very young age, of the doom that a mindflayer's presence spells out, is perhaps the second most difficult task balduran has ever given her.

   it's hard not to think about it, even in the midst of battle. balduran speaks to the dragonborn with lightning on his fingertips and there's a familiarity between them that is undeniable. this is not a stranger wanting to strike down a random mindflayer. there is affection here, there is love here. there is pain here, from losing all that love.

   (she thinks about asking lae'zel to kill her, should she ever fully turn into a mindflayer, and how her friend accepting that task filled her with more fondness than it perhaps should have.

   so is this not love, too? offering balduran a merciful death? not when he's still here, somebody says. not when he's still him.)

   she casts bane the second before another attack hits. this time, she can feel her magic sticking, can see the hint of pink dragging his hands down as the dragonborn tries to raise them. there's not much more time to look, not when balduran has an arm around her waist and tugs her close. as lightning descends upon them, he turns his back to the dragonborn and pulls fiyero to his chest.

i will be your shield.

   she still feels it. of course she does, it's lightning, and fiyero is wearing armour lined with metal. but balduran takes the brunt of the damage, blessedly less than it could have been, the effect of bane leaving them both better off. she's wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, head tucked against his collarbone, as if trying to push past a horrible storm. her illusionary wings, incorporeal, wrap around the both of them protectively.

   perhaps it really is a storm, rain starting to platter down on them. this is the first time she's held onto him as desperately as this. it feels like it was bound to happen eventually— now that she's here, she doesn't want to let go.

   but she has to. they're still in danger. and it hurts, everything hurts, lightning stuttering through her veins painfully. fiyero whimpers against balduran, pushes off. her hand finds his cheek by instinct alone, gaze still too blurry to really see. her control over bane fades entirely when another belated jolt goes through the tiefling.

   ' i n-need your help. ' blatantly so, something fiyero would usually not be ashamed of. if it wasn't balduran. if he hadn't asked for her help. ' anything to— we can get away. ' her gaze finally sharpening, fiyero gets her first proper look at the veins spreading across his sickly skin, breath caught in her throat. the song she hums is slower, gentler, as though time had stopped between the two of them for the moment. she heals balduran again, strokes a thumb over his cheek.

   ' i can make it dark. please. '