#chaoticbard

[whomuses]

"It's a good thing that I am still an exceptionally skilled wizard," he said, tone just a touch dry, "Because I feel like otherwise they would be far less tolerant of my… ongoing shortcomings." Gale sighed, shaking his head. Yes; they had Karlach who was also at risk of detonation, Astarion's vampiric needs, Shadowheart's wound, even Wyll looked demonic now, but… he couldn't help but feel like he was the greatest burden on them all.

After all, Shadowheart's wound didn't make her so tired that she had to lose days at a time to resting. Karlach was probably one of the most eager and determined to drive them on. Powerful artefacts didn't fall to Astarion's fangs… his eyes were pensive now.

"Do forgive me, but uh… I feel I may need to lay down for a little while." he whispered, glancing away, dark eyes distant. "Whilst you are more than welcome to continue bothering the Gods, of course, but…"

Alaara felt him take her hand, and she placed her other one over top it in turn. She held on tightly, as if Gale would disappear if she didn't hang onto him.

"And you will do it with the caring love of everyone in camp. Well- Astarion's is debatable but I think he does actually care under his constant bluster saying otherwise."

"Hold fast to your hope. Cling to faith. In the meantime, I'm going to keep cursing at Mystra and demanding she come up with a solution for your problems on your behalf. Perhaps that makes me no more than a hatchling in her eyes but so be it. I no more grovel to deities than the rest of my kind do. I fear not the aggravation one may hold for me daring to place myself upon equal ground with them. Or, more accurately, bring them down to our level."

[apalestar]

@chaoticbard for a plotted modern verse starter.

For once Astarion found himself off the roster for tonight’s entertainment. He didn’t need to dress in his attire prepared specifically for him to dance on the pole. To show himself off for the crowd. No, the master, Cazador wanted him on the floor serving drinks.

The nightclub portion of the complex to hold a musical accompaniment for the guests. Tickets paid in advance. The stage accounted for. The establishment brimming with idiots soon to be parted from their coin on the casino machines and expensive menu items. The Palace cantered to an upper middle class and above clientele. Cazador didn’t suffer the uncouth. Except the illicit murders committed behind closed doors, but the guests were unaware about those.

Astarion sauntered across the floor from table to table. Serving the orders and presenting himself with a smile. Tomorrow he would be back on the menu as it were. Expected to provide the ‘nightly service’ in his chambers.

He noticed her on the stage. The Dragonborn meant to serve as the opening act to the more popular band advertised. She was a rare sight even somewhere as metropolitan as Baldur’s Gate. Her musical number faded into the background. Astarion’s attention drawn elsewhere. He was always watching the spawn.

His shift passed off to another. One of the mortal sycophants that worshiped the ground Cazador stepped on. Behind all the throbbing bass of the music and the roar of the gambling crowd lie a tucked away hallway. Here housed the spawn who served as courtesans in the Palace. Their rooms sectioned off not for their benefit for the purpose of serving others with their bodies.

Each door with a keypad off to the side. Only by interacting with it did the door open. Astarion took residence near the end of the long hallway. All the noise from the casino and club muted here. Barely audible.

He hoped for a rather quiet evening to trance. Perhaps indulge in one of his vices.

[harpershigh]

"Jaheira, you're like the cool grandmother I never had. I hope I'll be as amazing as you when I'm older."

Jaheira blinked, momentarily taken aback by Alaara’s words, but her expression quickly softened into something warm and genuine. “The cool grandmother, am I?” she said with a small, amused smile. “You’ve certainly found a way to flatter an old Harper.”

She paused for a beat, then added gently, “And you’ll be more than amazing, Alaara — of that, I’ve no doubt.” Her gaze lingered on the dragonborn, a touch of curiosity sparking in her eyes. “But… it makes me wonder. What was your family like, if I may ask? I suspect you didn’t need a grandmother like me to make you the strong soul you’ve become.” Her tone was light, simply an open invitation to share if Alaara wished.

[warwaited]

@chaoticbard

Rakatak laughs and rolls her eyes jokingly, throwing a look over in Alaara's direction as she pops another piece of cured sausage into her mouth. She's been in almost uncharacteristically high spirits after their most recent fight, and apparently found reason to celebrate.

"What would be worse, I wonder, the fear of the unknown, or having bearing of exactly what will happen but lacking the will to stop it. Oh, the ways I could pull a man into my orbit, if only I felt like it."

A hearty swig of wine. "Really, Alaara, you have the best of it. You could make a list of obituaries sound riveting, and here I am thumping the pulpit evermore. Stirring, but hardly sensual."

[lcftyambiticns]

📜 . . . @chaoticbard : ❛ You could have died, you know. ❜

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ"YES, I AM QUITE AWARE I could have died, thank you very much! And so could you!" He spat, glaring at her. The adrenaline was still coursing through his veins.

Lorroakan was no hero, and he was perfectly content with that. The fine line between valor and folly was often blurred, and the dead didn't reap the rewards of their so-called bravery.

Yet, he had still risked his own well-being to save Alaara. The bard who never failed to test his patience. His companion. He sat on a fallen tree, wrapping a makeshift bandage around his lower arm where the blade had nicked him.

ㅤㅤㅤ"Your reckless stupidity nearly got both of us killed! From this moment on, you will do exactly as I say, or so help me, I will leave you to whatever fate your foolishness brings upon you!"

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

[shimmerbeasts]

For gods' sake. Alaara shook her head, shocked by what he'd said. Sure, drow were a more violent race but- for any of them to survive multiple attempts on their lives... That was nothing to shake a stick at. At least- it wasn't in the assassins were any good. And most drow were. "Yes," she answered. "Multiple attempts? How is it that you all live this way? Why? What purpose does trying to off one another serve when you all live in the Underdark?"

"I could claim it is something about culling the weak and making us stronger in turn", Felicitas replied, putting the bottle down, "I could claim that to survive Hookhorrors, Bulettes, Beholders or Minotaurs, you need to be strong of mind and body, but let's be real, that would only be half the story."

She blew a raspberry. Looking back at the Dragonborn, she continued: "Let's just say, religious zeal and a rigid hierarchy of Houses, where you cannot afford to lose face even once is an amazing cocktail to grow up on." The drow rubbed a hand over her neck, massaging a strange burn mark on her skin. Upon closer inspection, Alaara could make out the sigil of the Baenre family.

She smiled sourly. "I should not even be the target of assassinations", Felicitas admitted, "I am a bard. We are literally there to entertain the houses. Plus I was a serf, so I should be even less of a target. I am not even a person in drow culture. Sure, I am more than a slave, but not a lot. But you end up witnessing an incidence where a lot of high-ranking house members die and suddenly, you are the enemy!"

@chaoticbard cont. from here.

[starbvund]

@chaoticbard plotted starter

This place brought back so many painful moments in Halsin's life. The darkness here had snuffed out the last remnants of a careful elven youth. The war colored his past in an irrevocable way. So many good friends and comrades lost to Ketheric's ambition. He didn't know what he expected returning here. Hope, perhaps. Silvanus had blessed him more than most. Rewarded him with his faith in a way to restore this land; salvage it from the blight infesting it.

He'd thought his rescuers and saviors of the Grove would extend that grace towards his mission. He hoped, but didn't expect it. What he hadn't banked on was the little cleric of Shar. She who rejoiced in her Lady's darkness and all the sorrow it wrought. She bleated her vitriol in his direction. It reminded Halsin of a petulant child lashing out with doctrine beaten into them over years.

He forged on attempting to be the stronger person in the situation. But even he had limits. Limits he quickly was brushing up against. A knife in hand he flicked it over the shapeless cedar block in his hand. Something to take his mind off this place. To help him forget some people out there wanted this blight. This infection to continue.

Halsin startled when Alaara approached him. His knife strayed nearly enough to nick flesh. His large frame twitched in his surprise. "Forgive me, friend. I didn't see you. How can I help you this evening?"

He assumed it was evening. Here time was all relative. The sun's rays didn't reach the ground.

[ceruleanscarred]

Vorel asked @chaoticbard to fix her lute.

As the instrument is handed over, it jostles slightly in Alaara's hands, especially when a replacement is mentioned. As if it was offended by the idea.

"Oh I don't think I'd be able to part with this one. It was a gift from someone I met on my travels, and its... taken a liking to me, I think." The lute had a warm golden shimmer to it, like it was bathed in comforting sunlight.

"Actually, could you show me how to repair a string? It's the first time one has broken, I'd like to know how to fix it if any others break in the future, even if my hands are too big. I should at least try."

[bloodedhearts]

"Don't worry. I'm not tired, so I will make sure our camp is safe." Well, there's more to it, of course, but Astarion won't admit this. For now, anyway, he thinks this alliance could be very useful to him, so he doesn't plan to waste it. He's convinced he's good at hiding the truth, but right now, he just really needs blood, and it's probably written all over his face.

@chaoticbard ❤'d !

[swashbucklcr]

@chaoticbard | starter call

Bards. The one collection of people his father hated more than elves. Anyone with the notion of dabbling in the arts of music or poetry that wasn't a crude limerick, a sea shanty about shagging a woman, or gutting a noble was always on the receiving end of Dunstan's fist.

It took Finn many months to adjust to his father's odd hatred for such things, but with the encouragement of the crew to listen to their captain, he eventually agreed to his father's wishes and hatred. Over a decade later, now in a camp with a very different crew, his father's words and actions still echoed in his mind as he saw Alaara working away on what he suspected was a poem or some prose of some sort. The initial thought was his father's rage, turning to his own rage, the desire to take her work and toss it into the fire, call her an idiot for putting time and energy into such things when they had a fight ahead, but then a second thought seeped in to overwhelm the initial. They were a team, a crew; they had to support each other in whatever way if they wanted a chance to survive this mess.

Instead, he silently observed Alaara at work, wondering what the bard was developing. A curiosity within him only grew—was it a song? What instrument did it need? A lute, maybe? It had been so many years since he even held a lute. Could he even play it anymore? Questions he didn't dare to voice as he simply watched, the scowl fading to the face of a man deep in thought and wonder.

[whomuses]

"It's too cold to go home tonight; I have a spare room upstairs. Don't tell anyone the Jolly Goose isn't actually at full capacity though. Might start a brawl..."

Gale looked out of the window at the thick flakes that were falling. Yes; that was a fair point, it was very, very cold out there and he could already feel the chill threatening his rather unhappy knees. As delightful as midwinter was, his aching body greatly objected. "Are you sure?" he asked, dropping his voice low, "I wouldn't want to be a bother..."

[apalestar]

"Is your middle name Edward by chance? I heard someone call you that."

@chaoticbard Day put you up to this.

"Do I look like an Edward to you? Last I checked, I'm still elven by birthright. Most of us know better than to name ourselves something so terribly uninspired." Either that or something so inspired by nature it made Astarion flare his nostrils in a show of distaste.

[ninehclls]

@chaoticbard cont. from here

Alaara seemed interesting. He didn't know much of her just yet, but it was clear she leaned more into her music than Tav did. They were three days out from the Nautiloid wreck, and admittedly Tav was an utter wreck himself. He was collecting people left and right and somehow he was in charge of them - at least mostly. It was terrifying.

Gods, but he wanted them all to like him.

This was a good step toward that, right?

"Of course. You looked a bit lost for where to sit. Why not next to me?" Tav hummed, the spade of his tail swaying somewhere just behind his right ear. "Welcome. I think Gale will have dinner ready... eventually."

He glanced over toward their resident wizard, bemused by his distant cursing as the fire popped and hissed at him while he attempted to get it ready for their meal. Then he startled, surprised she'd noticed the callouses on his hands. Lifting one in front of his face, he flexed his fingers and smiled. "Just the lute, actually. Though I do sing. I was interested in other instruments, but never quite ended up with one through money or... other methods."

He cracked a proper grin then, barely suppressing a snicker. "I'm sorry, it's a little funny imagining you playing kazoo of all things. You have such a serious face, it just..." He caught himself, eyes flashing wide and his other hand lifting to join the other in a placating gesture. "Hells. Look at me putting my foot in my mouth. I don't mean to insult your instrument choice."

[warwaited]

@chaoticbard

Her nose wrinkles slightly at the extent of the laughter, if not its presence at all, but the paladin waits for Alaara to laugh herself out before she waves a hand dismissively.

"By no means do we need the largest possible drum. I just meant something a touch larger than a dinner plate - perhaps not in camp, but... afterwards. Once our campaign is completed, and you can turn your mind to the idea of recounting all this, rather than experiencing it." War rolls her shoulders, then shrugs casually.

"You will have to tell me about it once you begin drafting."

[recitedemise]

@chaoticbard asked: "i won't let anything happen to you." PROMPTS FOR FEELING SAFE AND EXPRESSING COMFORT: still accepting.

It's the eve of something great. That said, Gale knows that it's been the eve of something great for at least two seasons. Quietly, the spring had turned to summer whose fields of drenching golds have succumbed to autumn. Gale looks out onto the city, its shy dusting of flowers turned autumnal tender. He can't ascertain the day or the very last second where his fate will meet him, but their encounter with the Elder Brain is certainly approaching. Tinnily, Mystra's phantoming whisper fills his head.

It's both late and drusy, Baldur's Gate scintillating in a gauze of torchlight. In the inn, Gale watches her drag in her insomniac shuffle, and it's Alaara's quiet voice that gives him a half a fright. he turns from the window. Along his brow, its glimmer, the starlight, steeps him somber.

"You're always so sure," he greets, willing the slight thump of his heart to quell. "You could tell me that the sun rose with the stars, and I would need an embarrassing moment to really consider it." The hope that could color her dainty little promises... "If nothing else, I imagine that's a bard's magic." Is she worried? For him? How sobering a thought. "I'm quite spellbound."

[shimmerbeasts]

Mizora. The every day pain in the ass for Wyll and Karlach, and, if Alaara was brutally honest, herself as well. For once, she wasn't acting a prat. Her tone was still haughty as ever, but the question in and of itself Alaara was glad to answer. "What makes for a good legend? Hmmm. Stories about defying the odds. Being a hero. Doing what's right. Stories about someone who has flaws, but keeps doing their best in spite of them. People that overcome great hardship to end up in a better place. Stories that can teach others lessons," she answered.

"Of course, those aren't the only sorts of legends that exist. Plenty are warnings to heed."

There was an unspoken truth in being a warlock's patron and interacting with other people, outside of your chosen charge. Most, if not the whole world, eyed you with suspicion. Add to it the fact that you were a fiend, and immediately that suspicion turned into hatred. Mizora had long learned to brush the views of others off, only concerning herself with them when someone actively tried to dissuade Wyll from her chosen path. Most people, who tried to convince Wyll to free himself from her influence, wound up dead.

The same fate would have befallen the gang of misfits, her pet had chosen as his new playmates, were it not for the simple fact that they all had the same affliction. The Ilithid tadpole in their skulls ensured that Mizora needed them to stay alive if she ever wanted to have that intrusion upon her territory removed. Thus the Cambion was forced to swallow the insults and bide her time. It was at least made easier by only appearing selectively, and even then, when she chose to meet Wyll as regularly as she had done before, they always met outside of the camp or in his dreams. After all, her pet couldn't slack off in his skills, particularly now that he had such a new and strange body.

Thus Mizora mostly made nice (somewhat) with the group as a means to pass the time. Also because she wanted to figure out whom she might have to kill first, should things come to it. She had chosen to speak with Alaara as she had become the elected leader, and also because Mizora had heard whispered rumours of the Dragonborn being tied to a strange massacre in a tavern. That alone had been enough to spark her curiosity as "bard" and "massacre" normally did not appear in the same sentence.

"Fascinating", Mizora replied, "Though I have to admit, isn't there a certain danger in how we define heroism and what is the right thing to do? After all, there are so many cultures in Faerun. What is seen as heroic and right in one culture might be regarded as cowardly or even immoral in the other. Or do you believe in certain universal truths and experiences all cultures share? Which is why certain themes like revenge, love and betrayal appear in all stories ever told?"

@chaoticbard cont. from here.