#baldursguys

[coldexile]

@baldursguys

there's blood dripping down his chin, he can taste it. the split in his lip, the bruise smarting his cheek. there's probably worse injuries hidden beneath leather and fabric. it's worth it, entirely so, arrow drawn, tugged along at taut string that digs into callouses of his fingers. each breath is measured, a careful, drawn breath as he awaits an opening.

there. one arrow, two, embed themselves into the skin of orin's back. odysseus ducks, slipping behind rubble and grinding his teeth together. he waits, turns again, two arrows notched and ready.

and then he sees her. he sees her seeing him, and everything crumbles away. the rage, the boiling feeling in his gut. the arrows miss orin by a hair, sailing off and never to be recovered.

"penelope..." something chokes him, raw and thick in his throat. blood, tears, he knows not. she's alive, she's alive. she's here. that's all that matters, that's it.

abruptly, he's whipped out of his trance, narrowly managing to dodge the swipe of claws that catch on the fabric of his armor. it tears, and he runs to her.

[anquenin]

❛ oh, don't be cute. ❜ but like, affectionate. wyll

astarion pouts slightly. “i’m never cute.” he starts, he has made his way into wyll’s lap, hands on his shoulders to steady himself. these moments between engaging themselves in fights that could end in their demise so easily. and astarion would never to admit the fact that he likes this, whatever they have he cannot put words into it. “-i’m beautiful, elegant, regal even.” his hand searches for wyll’s, holds it ever so gently. “-never cute. nor adorable.” he pretends, not very well one might say, to be annoyed, but his actions demonstrate something different, he moves, holds wyll’s face softly, cupping his cheek. “you on the other hand…” he trails off, half of a smirk on his own face. 

@baldursguys

[baldursarchive]

❛ may i have this dance? ❜ gortash for dahlya bc i know they went to at least one ball --

dahlya found events to be boring, usually the type of things she would send gortash on her own. he did request her presence, no one knew who she was, outside of being an acquantaince of gortash and she would rather keep it that way. the opportunity to dress up, to indulge her more extravagant and lavish tastes. well she would be a fool not to. he walks over, extends his hand and she looks him up and down. trying to figure out what the move was here. her mind already racing wild with all the ways she could kill him by being so near. she wouldn't, but a girl can dream. her head tilts, and her usual stare fades into a smile. dark, almost sultry. "-i thought we were going to be smarter than this, lord." she whispers to him sarcastically, her hand in his ready to be guided into the dance floor. it seemed somewhat foolish to be allowing herself to participate in such idiotic customs, but even the darkness in her soul, her bloodstained hands could not deny the fact that something else had always been brewing between him and her.

"-are you not worried of being seen? of someone suspecting me?" she asks, feigning an innocence she does not possess. is a being so wretched and evil? with thoughts and intent beyond despicable capable of feeling love? surely not. but this. this was something close to it. gortash, the only person who had known her before. the only person who knows her now. she would not be stupid enough to take her knife to anyone surrounding them or at this party. they are people of power, and it wants to kill, wants to maim, and hurt...but dahlya is more than a simple urge. she'll find a way to satisfy it. for now she feels inclined to be whisked away. to pretend she's something she is most definitely not.

@baldursguys

[bhaalbie]

stolen kisses while hiding away from a crowd . (kiss meme) (gortash but it's during the pre-game era)

dahlya is distracted, very much preoccupied with the silly feelings that some to bubble up when it revolves around @baldursguys…father won’t be pleased, she’s sure of that. but she can’t seem to pay any mind to the thought when she can hear the chatting and clamoring of the elites far away, muffled…while the attention of the host is on her. (she can’t be seen like this, it would ruin things.) desire always mixed with this need to cut and slice and maim and break, it takes everything in her self control not to mark him, not to dig her teeth in and claim. they’re kissing, and it’s like a dance as she clings onto his shirt, a desperation only found in those who are needy.

she bites his lip, breaks away only a moment after. her free hand cupping his face, thumb rubbing the lip she’s just bitten. “do you think they would ask you questions, enver? if you returned with bloody lips.” it’s a challenge, attempting to push the limits further and further. see where the whole thing could snap. (it wouldn’t she feels safe and it’s a dreadful thing.) “-all marked up, i say you don’t go back and you stay with me.” it’s the heat, a volatile thing rising. she smiles and it’s sharp, giggles slightly. kisses him again, like she’s trying to eat him. looking at him with adoration beneath the hungry gaze. like she’s starving.

[baldursgoons]

closed.

the cracking sound of the fire has her attention partially, tail absentmindedly moving about. it's just the two of them, in the middle of the camp. her eyes do not move from him, remains steady on gale. it's quiet for a moment, it does not bother her. in any other ocassions such a thing would just, make her ansty, have her moving around to fill it with something else. the decision before her has circe doubting herself in such a way, secrets are good. she loves having secrets, it gives her an edge over others, otherwordly in a way that could never be pieced together. she has it, the key to the lock, and she has never found herself in a position where she would give it away so willingly.

she thinks then, about mystra. about gale. about the way he seems hung up on such a thing, about when he told her about her. and it wasn't just jealously, which is to be expected, but this other thing. this other feeling. a familiar road, one that she has walked down before and...she does not understand why he would feel that attachment still. that ache. (and a part of her, actually does. once before, it could have been her) to be trapped, wrapped up when it's nothing but their so called love and affections. he seems to reminisce with fondness, and it chokes her. she supposes she could hand a key. "i don't think i've ever told you-" she starts, casually, because she cannot handle the weight of it if it became too serious. "-that i am actually not from here." her eyes, bright as emeralds. still. looking at him with intensity. her hand idly playing with the edge of a stick. it's a good moment as it will ever be. she could give gale a key.

@baldursguys

[faithchosen]

an indepedent, private, selective roleplay blog for shadowheart from baldur's gate 3. heavily based on my own interpretation of the character. written by billy / seth / joe. please read rules before interacting. this blog is plot centric, meaning i won't be inclined to interact without some plotting. affiliated with @baldursguys.

about. rules. pinterest link. plotting call. interest tracker.

[coldexile]

@baldursguys

home

[coldexile]

❰❰ HAIR ❱❱ sender pushes receiver’s hair away from their face (penelope for odysseus but pretend i sent it from baldursguys)

he recoils at first, this fear flaring behind bright eyes. a rabbit startled at the sound of a branch snapping. he recoils from her, bile burning his throat, skin crawling like ants do upon cobblestone. there is new tension in his spine, his shoulders set like that of a cornered animal than a soldier.

then, he settles, his eyes register her face, the shape of her hands. ( he knows them, even after twenty years he knows them. the callouses from weaving and unweaving that shawl. ) the smell of her skin and bath salts.

"penelope..." he whispers it, the wildness fading to relief. ( so much relief, so relieved he could sob again. will he ever stop sobbing in relief? ) he tilts, his hands cupping hers, to draw hers back his face, to cradle his still too-sharp cheekbones and the stubble that grows there.

"it's you." he whispers, as if saying it too loud will whisk him away again. his hands move from hers, and come up to return the gesture of tucking a stray hair from her cheek. callous fingers trace her cheek, thumb the worn, worry lines he doesn't recognize as if it could smooth those years away. "i'm sorry, i was miles from you, love. what were you telling me about?"

[coldexile]

" the look on your face says there's more on your mind . " pen for ody

he sits smothered in a blanket, thin, bony limbs tangled in the fabric, wrecked with tremors in the chilled breeze. he should go inside, he knows, he should. the last thing he wishes is to get sick so soon after to his homecoming. whilst the idea of being confined to bed is not unappealing after two decades of not having one, becoming sick is much less appealing. he knows he is at risk of illness, especially now.

"i could never picture what he looked like." he says, finally, softly. eyes studying his wife, before reaching for her, to smooth through the delicate wrinkles of stress on her face. she is beautiful, even now, she steals his breath away. "telemachus... i've missed his entire life. i don't know his hobbies, his passions, i —"

grief shakes him, a hand cupping his face, pressing the his lips as if it will hold in the sob. as if it will stifle it, smother it like a flame does without oxygen.

"i worry he will not like me, that we will not get along."

[coldexile]

i feel lighter than i have in so much time . (pen for ody)

he sits boneless against her, the bony, thin juts of his frame pressing into the curves of her's. the water around them is warm, tinged pink by the scrape of blood and salt off his skin from soaps that smell like honeysuckle and lavenders. he has barely spoken, easily maleable under her fingers as she had urged him here.

it's the most comfortable silence he has sat in in twenty years.

odysseus jumps at her voice, a rabbit startled by the snap of a twig, head whipping as if he had long forgotten she was even there. ( he'd been so comfortable, so warm, soaking in the scent of her he had convinced himself it was but a dream. that he is back upon that island. at little raft, alone and nothing but miles of ocean and he has dreamed this. ) easily, though, he relaxes again, hands moving to delicately cup the line of her jaw, marveling upon her face with wet eyes and tears edging his lids, threatening to overspill.

"penelope, my love." sea rough, his voice is, a low timber as calloused thumbs smooth the worried wrinkles of her face. "i have never felt so light in my life, i cannot put it to words." he leans, tucks his face to hers, forehead to hers. "i'm sorry, for all that you went through in my absence."

[baldursarchive]

❛ oh, so now you care? ❜ (viktor for jayce)

it's terrible, everything about this. being here. knowing that something is deeply wrong with viktor, he can't pin point it, as close as they have gotten these past years and jayce cannot figure him out. instructions he can read, building and creating he can memorize, bt viktor has been a haunting enigma chasing jayce through out his existence. and somehow he does best, what he always does best. get a rise out of him. because it's all in vain, he can swear up and down, until he runs out of breath how he's always cared. but it's not doing much. gods, he just wished viktor would get it. would understand, the terrible, dreadful weight of time on his shoulder's. it's poisonous. and even after all this years, he still is mad. "-viktor, please. maybe i haven't been the smartest guy, and maybe i have other priorities...too much on my plate." he starts, hears himself. hears the passage of time in his voice, the heaviness of his oath. and the one promise he cannot seem to keep. "-but i've cared, i have always cared. even when i shouldn't have. despite it all." it feels, constricting, the way this lands on his chest. it should be liberating. but there is this underlying feeling where his words seem to fall on deaf ears.

@baldursguys

[baldursarchive]

[ inspection ] sender holds receiver's face while inspecting an injury they got (kiki for vax)

"kiki.." he starts, suddenly so aware of how close she was to him. he does not like being fussed over, although he is aware how he is constantly fussing over others. especially his sister. and now. keyleth. dark brown eyes look back at hers, and he feels warm. there's a silence. unsure if it's uncomfortable, he is just simply in it. dragged them both into it. "... i am alright, truly there's no need for you to get worried. just a scratch and a scare...nothing else." he sounds nervous then, unable to get the idea of her out of his head. her touch, her eyes, her face. he doesn't know what to do with it all, he just stands there. half-heartedly hoping this moment would last longer. his hand hesitantly moves up, rests on hers. as to comfort, as to make his words more meaningful.

@baldursguys

[baldursarchive]

❛ can’t sleep? ❜ (kiki for vax)

her voice has managed to make it's way into his head. he doesn't jump, but his heart rate definitely picks up. he looks over his shoulder at keyleth, it's distracting. how pretty she is. it's only now that vax notices he hasn't said a single thing. "uh." he starts, great. he's doing great. "- just dealing with a worm in my head. kind of difficult to sleep with that." it's a bit frustrating, just when the party had found the arch druid halsin...it dawned on them the information that halsin can't help them. he doesn't want to seem pessimistic or sour, but it is unfair to be in this state, near the brink of death and just following clues around to be lead no where. and he doesn't want to sleep, he doesn't want to rest. flashes and promises of powers by a mysterious being in his head. he likes what he knows, and reality ias what he knows thank you very much. he's legs folded, curled in himself. and he opens up. looking up at her, offering a space next to him. "-how about you? how come you're awake..."

@baldursguys

[bhaalbie]

" you're getting blood on the carpet. " gortash

dahlya makes her way from the window to his desk, such a large room, an empty cold room most of the time. her steps are light, but she's meant to be heard, to be seen even. a wretched creature of violence, dahlya demands it as much. "you can get a much nicer one then." work consumes him, it's such an interesting sight seeing him drown in it. dahlya does not understand it completely, yet she's entranced by it. the only light coming from his desk, before she is behind him, bending down to look over his shoulder. her hands slide up the sides of his arms. her blood sings, it wishes to strangle the life out of him. yet she knows better, she can't, she won't it isn't for an entirely selfless reason but yet. it remains. as such. "-what ever are you working on now, enver?" she asks, interested sure but much more focused on commanding his attention. she craves and desires, something new for her. gortash seems to be this new fun thing to play with, the type of thing that comes with rules and seeing just how much she can bend them. it's fun, exciting, it comes with the territory of finally being where she rightfully belongs.

@baldursguys / gortash.

[baldursgoons]

❝ when i don’t fancy a man’s eyes, i put an arrow through one. ❞

hex smiles rather wide pleased with the information more than anything a certain sparkle in yellow eyes, her head tilts, sharp nail taps it's chin. wondering, pondering. looking off to a side. "-is that so? now, salt, love, tell me what do you to a man's eyes when you do fancy them...include everything, every nasty gorey detail for me, if you please." it's a small giggle, taken to playing around with her own dagger.

@baldursguys / salt.

[baldursgoons]

❝ why do i enrage you so? i’ve never done you harm that i know of. ❞

gale's existence proved many things. firstly, that briar had the capability of forming grudges, properly, when it did not involve just messing with her organizing system at the temple and other trivial matters. no, she choses to be mad at him. and it wasn't him, per se, it was not the fact that he seemed to be well read and smart and talkative. on paper, and based upon first impressions he had passed with flying colors. it was...everything else. it was the mystra of it all. "you do not enrage me." she states, curtly. short. because she is not good at hiding her emotions. (and surely, this was all a test. from Her. a test that she was to pass with flying colors. the ground did not shake beneath her. no. that was all in her head. the hesitation, it would pass.) "-i am sorry if you feel...like i am upset at you. i am not." she isn't a very good liar, not when she has to stop looking at gale in the face. and her hand fidgets with her long lavender hair. (in her head she makes a list, you do not enrage me, you...make me doubt, make me question things i should not, you are an outlier in everything i've been taught. i've been told.) briar takes a deep breath. just slightly.

@baldursguys / gale.