#BETRAAL

[mindsmade]

@betraal / meme: patch, sender patches up receiver's wounds.

Though he's never resistant to help when offered, Aerendyl feels an unprecedented incongruence surface within him as Daemosyrâxes tends to his wounds. Grym, that mechanical terror, and its mephits butting in, managed to do a number on him. Burns, scrapes and cuts — but the discomfort stemming from those ebbs and flows like an unpredictable tide as the sorcerer works on treating the reddened patch across his back.

It's by no means a comfortable affair, but the poultice at least cools the angry patch of red, covering the range between the jut of his left shoulder to just right of his spine. The genasi briefly thinks back on the spectacular fall he took to earn him that mark, landing his partially exposed back on the searing metal floor of the forge.

His focus snaps back ( a blessing in disguise? ) to the fluctuation between discomfort and solace at Daemosyrâxes' hands as a particularly sharp pain shoots through him, below the otherwise light press of the other's fingertips. ❛  Hm. You have a healer's touch.  ❜ Gentle when possible, and persistent when called for. Inflicting pain to prevent greater agony is a necessary evil in that trade.

He just didn't expect to be on the receiving end of any assistance from him. Somehow, at some point, Daemosyrâxes looked at him and decided to come to his aid over throwing a jibe his way.

Somehow, that feels different from when they're out facing the Underdark's perils — there's no real reflection involved in protecting each other there. Do or don't; there's no in between. This quiet moment he's caught in now, to Aerendyl's mind, doesn't fit that category. This stems from a deliberate choice.

The fire crackles, and druid feels warmed — either by its fire, or the goodwill surrounding it. Maybe it's both.

❛  Thank you. I appreciate your help.  ❜ A gaze sluggishly casts itself over his shoulder. ❛  You seem to be in your element; like you're used to juggling poultices and whatever else you're using.  ❜

[bolyde]

not everything is a love story. AAAAND gale 🕺

"Oh I'm painfully aware of that fact," Gale agreed with a small nod towards @betraal, cushioning his chin on a closed fist as he looked at the book he was reading, "but sometimes it is even if we can't see it. Or understand it... everyone across the realm has a different notion of what love can be to some degree." The wizard gave a small wave of his hand.

He knew, of course, some actions were born of hatred or extreme ideals, but he digresses mentally.

"I think more things are rather than are not love stories." He closes the novel he'd been reading, holding it outward towards Daemosyrâxes should he desire to read the book.

[lrdvyke]

i don't even know what it means. to 'be myself'.

Between two pale fingers, a strip of dried meat is pulled into twain. Vyke sits upon a stone ( flat, probably the best seat in the house ), helmet by his feet, steel gauntlets upon his lap, while he observes what is before him. He has never been one for groups. They slow one down, attract too much attention, and stubbornness rules decisions. All he does—has done—is go go go, never taking a second longer than need be in one place at a time. If it had nothing of what he is searching for, what is the point of remaining?

❛ Mh, ❜ he says once in reply, folding the smaller strip in his hands before popping it into his mouth. Pale eyes shift towards the leader of this little group, Daemos as he has come to know, before they slowly drift back away. He cannot say he knows much about the other. Hard to say he knows much about anyone here. But he is not about to sully a job with unnecessary biases of unfounded thoughts, were they even to exist in the first place.

Still, he has never spoken Draconic with someone who is not a full dragon before. Call it practice, then—Lansseax would be proud.

❛ Then be someone else for a spell, ❜ Vyke replies with a swallow before he splits the dried meat once more. Folding the smaller strip as he has done before while he speaks. ❛ If you don't know, then no one knows. Pesky things those are, really. A self. I never bothered with it. Maybe you'll be lucky and find yourself meanwhile. ❜

@betraal !

[faereun]

❛  you're doing such a good job. i can't wait to fuck you.  ❜ WHEWWWWWWWWWWWWW ok also to rolan

a high - pitched, keening moan slips past [ spit - slick lips ] as another digit teases rolan's entrance, relentless.   'you're doing such a good job,'   daemos praises, and rolan tightens around his fingers, mewling as the sorcerer teases his prostate mercilessly. rolan means to complain, to give daemos a real piece of his mind but all that comes out is ANOTHER STRAINED MEWL , a third finger fucking into his hole.   'i can't wait to fuck you,'   the sorcerer murmurs, leaning down to whisper against the shell of the tiefling's ear, pressing the hard outline of his erection against rolan's ass. the wizard's cock is drooling precum, dripping down his shaft and making a mess of his soft belly . he drags a finger through milky white, traveling across his chest and up to his lips where digit meets a pink, forked tongue --- flicking out to taste the precursor of his own spend. he glances up at daemos with hooded , inviting eyes , the gleam of scarlet just begging the sorcerer to hurry up and rail him senseless already.   'i can take anything you give me,'   rolan says it like it's a challenge, daring daemos to make a crying, stupid mess out of him until he's satisfied.

[recitedemise]

ooh wax poetic please!! ♡

Send ‘wax poetic’ for Gale to work some poetry; his muse is you: still accepting.

There is something about him that goes beyond age, isn't there? Watching how the cracking of dawn scorches him golden, silhouette blazed and amber-torched, Daemos looms like those palaces of old. He's its bailey by the sunset; he's its view to the east.

You're the wonders of a kingdom at its mightiest of heights, unwithering in the face of time's vast scourges. He is tall and stony, magical in skill, and you have only preserved in spite of it.

Yes. Gale, abandoning his tent, starts, by the gods, I would brave your parapets. I trust you, he thinks. His past is a mystery, mind stone-archways that would fold to a maze, but Gale knows luster; he hales from Waterdeep. And neither cowed by greatness nor bottomless riddles, where this man will guide him, he will follow.

(Even should his halls take him to a chapel.) "Morning." (There's a corpse at the altar and the dead at his feet.) "Slept well, I hope?"

[wolfkcst]

Kisses lots of kisses meme -Accepting!! @betraal

Tonight the camp was in high spirits, and perhaps a little bit tipsy from the little party they were having. A little victory party here and there never hurt - and Eivor insisted on at least having a feast tonight. It was good to be kind to themselves, even if they felt like they weren't getting anywhere. They were, however, but it doesn't feel like it to many. Still, the fire was roaring, the camp buzzing, and a few of their people were enjoying themselves with good ol' mead and wine. Eivor drifts over to Daemos, who they noticed was having just as much fun but as soon as they made eye contact they could feel the heart in their chest flutter. Was it the mead, or were they truly in love? They line is blurred because of the alcohol, but they cared not. Tonight was the night to have fun, and if having some time with Daemos alone was part of the plans, well... They would be happy to oblige. Once the others settled in, the warrior found their lover for tonight waiting for them at his camp. They gently take his hand, offering a small squeeze and pulling him out into the woods to get a little more... Intimate. Hands lay upon his chest, pushing him down against the grassy earth and straddled his lap with the smuggest of grins. They lean in, brushing their lips against his teasingly before he says something... Unexpected. "You could ride this dragon tonight" was what he said, and while it would usually fluster them they let out a hearty laugh, lips moving to press against his again and again - sharing in the wonderful feeling of his hands all over them, and more importantly their laughs... Together.

[limpfisted]

sometimes i feel like there's a hole inside of me, an emptiness that at times seems to burn. OH OKAY

"Then fill it. And let me help." He shrugs his shoulders, gently takes his hands. "You are so much more than your pain, or any kind of lack in you. I see the man you are, the struggle, the hunger in your eyes, and yet the way you beg not for your own redemption, not for an unearned bandage on your own guilt---but just to help people, to lay gentle hands on the cuts you've torn, to mend hearts and minds... even when your own trembles so in fear of just your self. Perhaps you do not see it. Perhaps you do not have memories, and so you assume we have no memories of you. But I do. I see the way you stand between us and any danger. You--You defended me from Mizora. You tried to break my pact. And even more than that--you stood between us, twice. And for some reason, perhaps your strength in battle, perhaps that you had always done right by me---I believed you. I believed you could keep me safe, from a DEVIL that has tormented me for seven years, with no one to-...." He almost drops their hands, and after he almost pulls away, he squeezes them, tighter. "I felt safe behind you, like a black sheep cowering behind a lion."

"You push down your feelings, and yet, you are the bravest person I know with them. I have never heard someone say such mean, sarcastic things with so much joy," he chides, with a smile, teasing. "I have never heard such mean things be so funny. Even in your anger, there is an... honesty. An intimacy. Even when you suppress your feelings, shake and gasp and sweat with grief. That terrible struggle---it's one I understand, now, if only from when my soul was dragged through Hell. I see you fighting, the most noble, honorable fight---and I can not think of a warrior stronger. Your will is sharper than any blade, a tongue and muscles that tie and melt themselves hotter than a dragon's forge---and yet, even as I weep for you and wish you did not have to. I find myself admiring your skill for self-control."

"I have so many memories of you. And yet, if you have none of yourself---we shall make more."

"More memories than you can hold. More memories, every day, until you tire of me, until your teeth rot with sweet tales you can rock yourself to sleep with, a lullaby i give to you and you alone. No devil can stop me until you've gotten your fill of happiness and all the splendors of the Sword Coast. And Baldur's Gate. We are so close."

" I will take you to eat fish at the harbour, and we shall watch the sun set, though the yellows, orange, reds, I once thought were so perfect through the thick of the mist could never match the perfect warmth and darkness of your skin. I'll take you to the stables---and together, we'll ride gorgeous horses all around the Outer City. I'll show you the peacocks and the hawks---I'll teach you all I know about holding them and feeding them. My own trusty steed and feathered friend would have loved you---Prince and Charming, respectively, of course. We can go fishing, though I suppose my Father always said I was not the best at that. We can go gambling at the races, and watch the drunken Tymoran priests race even faster around the stadium, chased by unlucky gamblers."

" I'll take you to meet my Mother--and place flowers on her grave. Red roses. She was a bard, she told me to always remember the classics, the cliches are often based on beautiful truth, to bend and shape into gorgeous wreaths and braids and crowns. She would have loved your sharp tongue. She had one of your own, you see. You could both make fun of me and my Father's puns." What a fantasy. Wyll loves to roleplay, and loves still more to forget.

"We can see the fountains in the Upper City. The water is clean enough to drink and there's spouts for children to dance in. So beautiful, at night they gleam every color rainbow with alchemcy and candlelight. All the gorgeous shrines, so much history, so many cultures, all standing after more than two hundred years as one. The Wide! Oh, you must see the statue of Minsc, and Boo, my favorite heroes in all of history. The little hamster is so very darling, I begged my Father to get me one and then tried to run away from home and hunt one down when he said no. I'll tell you all about Minsc and Boo's adventures, and then we can watch a puppet show, and grown men and silly drunken teenagers whimper and cry as they get tattoos. We can buy more perfumes and lotions, and gifts for all our friends, and the swords. My Gods, by Balduran's bollocks, enough to make a man swoon with envy. The thought of an expensive rapier in your hand makes me swoon harder still."

" We can pick up dinner, on the way home. We'll use an old Ravengard family recipe--pot roast and veggies, and fry the fish to boot. Mm. And then we'll go to the park, together, where I used to play so many games of pretend, and we'll talk of all our legendary adventures, and all the legendary adventures to come."

"You deserve to feel more than sadness, mourning, grief. There is labour in atonement, yes. There is hard work in good."

"And yet, you deserve happiness, and joy, and rest, and perhaps love, if you are so kind as to want it from someone else. And if you like, if you are willing. You can find it here, in me."

Wyll takes Daemos's hands and places them on his too-warm beating chest. "If you do not have a heart, if you do not have memories, take my heart, and let us make new memories. Let us make new dawns, and dreams. I want you to wake up in the morning--and know that there is a world outside you."

"It wants you. It aches for you. It sings for you. The world, just as you, is not whole without you in it."

[gloomedhands]

@betraal ❛  sneaky .

He was clad in form fitting attire, black leather that clung to his figure, bronze trimmed silk and golden jewels that hug heavy from his ears. Catching the firelight every which way he went around the crowd he maneuvered. The ranger was here on the matters of a contract. A party the least of his concerns over the man he's been eyeing the moment he slipped in. A blade, unwelcomed, carefully tucked away in his garbs.

There was every intention of blood being spilt in the dark of a lonely corner. Set on sleeking away like the snake he was in this grass field of busy bodies. Yet, there laid a heavy hand upon his shoulder and a familiar face that softened his fierce expression. Daemos. And they looked as grand as one of royalty. Such a sight the gloomed stalker was not used too ( but did not mind ) . A dangerous distraction for a man set on murder. Dakara tried his might to keep a clear head in the other's unexpected company. Though hands could not. Lingering and familiar touches easily became his master of poor judgment. And he found himself being led off by the sorcerer. Following him blindly and excitedly as his anticipation rose. Heart thundering within his chest, threatening to break from it's skeletal cage.

The moment doors closed and the dim light of a dying candle was snuffed, the ranger laid claim to his lover for the night. Hands upon the broad, firm form as he exhausted himself to catch the other's lips in a kiss of not but teeth, bodies pressed flush together, revealing their unmistakable arousal. Confidently Dakara led Daemos back blindly before they met with a table. One that felt sturdy enough for their passion. He pushed against his lover's chest, commanding they lie back as dexterous hands worked at his pant strings. Little time wasted to tug them down, exposing two familiar heads. Tauntingly fingertips ran through the slick folds of his cunt and up the length of his cocks. Tapping at his tips playfully. "You compel me, Dae." Dakara huskily confessed, dipping his head down as he laid over the other, pressing a kiss against his companion's mouth, "I fear I could never deny you."

Another firm kiss and fingers wrap carefully around one of the other's eager lengths. "That makes you dangerous." Teeth snag the other's lip as he pulled away. A toothy smile taking his lustful features. Tab of thumb run over Daemos' plum, redden lip. "Tell me... what would you have me do to you? All you need is say it."

[weavewilled]

feel like this is also a good time to mention that daemos regularly writes his own poetry 😌

.... i think this means they legally HAVE to kiss, it's the law

[feverfewed]

@betraal

Light snorring fills the air in camp, mixing with the gentle snowfall. Anyone sensible is tucked up in their tent trying to stay warm and taking a well earned rest after a hard day's travel. Ilbryn, who has never claimed to be sensible a day in his life, is sat by the fire, head tipped back to the stars and either ignorant or uncaring of the snow settling in his hair. The sound of footfall shifts his attention back to his surroundings and he smiles as he sees Dae approach.

"My mother always calls tonight i annan-dû thand nan ethuil-onnad - the long night, shield of spring birth. It's rather a longwinded way of saying winter solstice, but that's elven for you I suppose." He shifts along on the log, silently offering Dae the space next to him, should he want it. "Legend has it the very first wood elves were warned that the longest night of the year was approaching by a mouse-hard time to be a mouse, that, if the owls are going to be out for hours. The way my mother tells it the elves showed their thanks to the mice by staying awake all night to guard them against preditors while the mice slept. Not entirely sure how much of that I believe, but I have to admit it would feel wrong not to stay awake and wait for the sun to come back after such a long night."

As always Ilbryn speaks without much thought, and without the need of an answer or input. It's not that he likes the sound of his own voice, exactly, so much as stories like these are always better shared. It's cold, it's dark, and elves guarding sleeping mice is just whimsicle enough that it might stave off some of the gloom. Turning his head back to the sky he hums, thoughtful. "Maybe those elves were just worried the sun wouldn't come back and were too embarissed to admit it, and the mice were just an excuse. Either way I'm going to follow in my ansestors footsteps and forgo my trance for the night. You're welcome to join me if you wish, or to catch up on sleep-goodness knows we all need it."

[elkenbulwark]

@betraal cont.

The 'drip' in this case was the other's intermittent passing thoughts no better than what one might hear from a leaky faucet late in the night when it was too dark to locate the nuisance and perhaps kick it off a shed's side. And so, dejected and prepared for another inevitable plink to ring out and soak yet another attempt for sleep to smother him out of his misery for the night, Birvor lay with arms crossed over his chest and his fury focused on the hints of stars peeking through the campfire's rising veil of smoke.

"Like I'd proper waste my energy on judging when it would be much better serviced to the task of wringin' your bloody neck-" The combination of really needing a shut-eye and the resounding exasperation in the tortured task tinted the threat no better than a toddler declaring they'd fight absolutely everyone in the world before a nap.

A bleary, badgered gaze eventually shifts from sky to the snarky display from the opposite bedroll some strangling-safety distance away. Following suit in propping his head up by the side of his jaw, the half-orc issued a low grumble as the drip turned into a full blown waterfall. "That obsessed with me, are ya? Might wanna get that checked out when evs your next appointment for extracting your head out your arse is. 'Fore that wormy bastard forgets which one's which."

Head bobbing forward slightly despite the added support of his knuckles, Birvor roused himself with a snort into the action surge needed to peel himself off the ground. Ripping his bedroll up in a swift, less passive and more aggressive show, he took a few stomps away from the drip's source before making a show of slamming roll and pillow down with as much force as he could muster at four in the filthy AM. He spares one last set of daggers mean mugging the other before elbow dropping his bedroll and promptly rolling onto his face. Through his self attempt at smothering, the tadpole he carried gave its own complaints over the tiresome situation by directing a series of psionic, shrill shrieks at the instigator by the fire's side.

[lastborne]

❛ i thought you’d like some company. ❜ 

@betraal sent &. 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬. | Accepting

A slight startle shook her form, not expecting anyone else to be up and awake while it was her turn on watch. "If you wish, I always like company." She patted the space beside her in offering a place for him to sit as she pulled her legs out of the way, crossing them as she leaned forward, tossing another piece of wood on the fire to keep it going as it struggled to fight off the chill of the cursed lands.

"Having trouble sleeping?"

[faereun]

❛  i can’t stop thinking about you.  ❜ for gen >:))) winks cutely

the wood elf flashes daemos a wicked grin, all sharp - teeth and plush , kiss - bruised lips. she crooks a finger at him, motioning for the sorcerer to come closer. she parts her legs so that he might settle between her thighs, the skin of his palms rough against soft sage - green. his hands begin to wander,   cupping  supple  flesh   as he leans down to mouth at the hollow of her throat, forked - tongue drawing pleading little moans out of genesis. he rolls a nipple underneath his thumb,   WHISPERING  SOMETHING  FILTHY   against the shell of the druid's ear until she's purring with delight.   'i can't stop thinking about you,'   he groans, and if the broken whine of his voice hadn't convinced gen of this already, the roll of his hips against hers has his cock, hot and heavy, sliding between her folds. she clicks her tongue,   [ ah ah ah , ]   pushing his chest until he's sitting upright.   'naughty naughty boy. bit too eager, don't you think?'   she teases, fisting his prick to give him a few experimental tugs, leaning forward to nuzzle her nose against the crook of his neck.   'such a needy thing, you are.'   she sinks her teeth into the meat of his shoulder, not quite hard enough to draw blood, but certainly hard enough to leave a mark.   'say please, and say it nicely, and maybe i'll help you come.'

[thcdoomed]

“ and, despite it all, i survived. “

a collection of my own writings … sentence starters || accepting [🗡️]

|| @betraal

She sat across from him at the fire, her mug of broth long forgotten and chilled by the night air. It was late and the others had been asleep and so only the two of them remained awake. Most of the conversation had centered around the day's trials and tribulations. Exhaustion nipped at her body, but she wasn't quite ready to sleep, not with the conversation they were having.

"That you did. Survived and still able to stand to tell the tale." Glancing at her now chilled bone broth, she sighed. Not a damn one of them had a happy story to recall. Trauma reigned supreme and bonded them all in a way. "Do you ever wonder if there's more to all this than just surviving?"

[oathwilled]

@betraal inquired: ❛ if i have to think about one more thing today, my head will explode. ❜ / everything all at once ( accepting )

" Shit, you and me both. " He groans, a deep sound that is just —— utterly done with the day, slumping against a rock. The rough stone grates against the back of his shoulder, and he hardly cares; he's sore bone-deep, mentally exhausted. There's silence that stretches for a moment, interrupted only with the sharp crackle of the fire. He probably needs to go splash around in the river before going to bed, but damned if he can be arsed to move right at the moment.

He lazily shifts his sword, jabbing the point into the log nearest the fire and giving it a little push; it shifts the log, sending sparks shimmering and smoke hissing, and the wood splits and burns anew. " And I worry enough about my head exploding to add yet another reason to worry about it, so I'd say let's keep the bloody evening mindless. "

[wolfkcst]

❝We make a damned good team. I think we could handle these cultists easily.❞ The wolf-kissed speaks with pride, hands placed on their hips as they glanced up at the taller. A grin forming on those scarred lips. Yes, they would like to bring Daemos into battle with them more often...

sc. || @betraal