#fatewoven

[avernusdamned]

@fatewoven / for gortash.

It's quite obvious that sleep was not something Karlach was able to achieve very easily last night. She's been waiting for this moment for years but it isn't excitement that brings her to such a restless night. No, it's fear. What if it doesn't work? What if this kills her? What if this is just another one of Enver's schemes? What happens to her? What happens to Wyll?

" So ... you're sure this is gonna work? " her words are hesitant, claws digging into the armrest of the chair. Her chest is laid bare here, ready to be burst open, and softly dimming with the bright light of her engine. It fluctuates, growing dull and dull and duller until it realizes it wants to live and a sudden burst comes from it. And then dullness, dullness, dullness. It repeats, though one of these times she may just blow.

All her vents, valves, and mechanisms to control and enter her housing of ribs where the engine sits lay ready to be tampered with. A multitude of scars, much more than Enver had ever seen her with before, paints along her limbs and weaves around the workings of her machinery, making her a canvas well worked upon.

It's hard not to think of the last time she was like this. (She is suppressing the thoughts. Bashing them down in the corners of her mind like an ant beneath her boot. You will not infest this place.) At least the chair is much more comfortable. " I mean really work. "

[silksworn]

❛ show me how much you missed me. ❜

❛ —— ☾ ₊ ⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 / @fatewoven

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐓 is fetching against Enver's dark skin. Cold steel warms itself upon his breastbone, moved only by the gentle rise and fall of breath. An idle threat with no real intent, not yet. The dead do not speak to her the way that he does, do not worship her with palm and flesh and fervor. Their cold veins no longer remember how to properly bleed. Only a quick flick of the wrist to artery and he would spill out for her a font of red as vibrant as a bouquet of spider-lilies and poppies. You have missed me too, for you have brought me flowers, she would say.

Enver makes a show of ignoring the weapon, though he cannot hide flittering pulse in his neck. Moth-wing heart, animal dread. She wants to sup of his fear like sweet-wine.

Ah, but she rushes ahead of herself. That would only spoil the meal.

Her lover's saturnine face is upturned towards her. Candlelight paints Enver's features in broad strokes. She is left with the impression of his leer, the high cheekbone and the architecture of a nose broken more than once. His deep-set eyes are lined with sleepless nights and smeared kohl, both hungry and arresting. He is some crepuscular creature that has crept into her bed, a version of himself that belongs solely to the few stolen hours they find for one another.

Only here does he kneel for her. She still tastes the power of his willingness all the same. His attention is almost as satisfactory as physical touch would be.

"You presume much," she breathes, face kept as placid as she can make it. "Who says that I have not had my share of pleasures in your absence?" Yet she cannot contain the undercurrent of longing, voice little more than a suggestion of speech. The insides of Iraestra's thighs are wet with her desire for him, telltale tremble as she spreads her knees further to show him the lilac bloom of her cunt. Her hand works practiced, languid circle over her sex. She dips two fingers inside of herself just to hear the slick, filthy sound of it. The loudest noise in the room is her fluting breaths.

A crude mockery of how she takes herself, Iraestra exerts enough pressure so that the blade may open delicate skin. Blood wells quickly to the cut, a small river of pain traveling the broad muscle of chest. She gasps at the sight as if she had been the one pierced, body tightening around the trivial intrusion of her slender digits. It is not enough. She would have him bleeding and on top of her.

"Come to me," demand or plea, she does not know any longer. She does not care. "Let us see who missed the other more."

[emmliches]

@fatewoven asked: ❛ how long have i been asleep? ❜ 𝟐𝟎𝟎 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 (accepting)

“Oh, only for a brief spell.”

There is no sense of time in the Lighthouse with its eternal Jupiter gas of sun. Lucanis has returned, waking seated in the kitchen where Emmrich has already prepared himself a prophylactic cup of loose Nevarran tea. The rest are still asleep. He knows drip coffee will miasma the air soon. 

“Lucanis, that’s wonderful.” He lowers his over-read copy of The Waking Scrolls. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear you’ve allowed yourself rest.”

He assumes it was real sleep, anyway. Spite finally assuaged and sated, no longer taking over to escape when Lucanis drops his guard to REM. Does he dream of kaleidoscopic Fade?

“Rejuvenated, I hope? I was just regaling Spite the experiences of my more— spiritual companions.”

[timewounded]

how long were you going to hide this from me? / omen to cypher !

patching up wounds // @fatewoven

at first the question was met with silence.

coat was an easy tool to cover up any sustained injuries & as painful as the gunshot was, cypher was rather used to it. be it a lesson from the past, showing weakness like that still was a death sentence.

yet as the path they were going through kept becoming longer, even his resilience gave out. a stumble with a hiss, more blood splattered on the floor as hold weakened. enough to alert Omen & force for the whole operation to temporarily come to the stop.

a bit of relief as he was able to sit down, yet at the same bit uncomfortable. no matter how close with protocol, it still felt wrong to be openly vulnerable.

which brings him back to the moment, as fellow agent was dressing up the injury.

❛❛ just until i got it all stitched up. it's not really a moment for details like it, is it? ❜❜ of course he wouldn't say a word about the injury if he wasn't caught.

[blindshoot]

How do they advise the player character on Raphael? Do they have comments on who the Player Character chooses to spend the night with?

COMPANION QUESTIONS

ADVICE ON RAPHAEL

Dareth has a general disapproval around making deals with things, especially if it's the devil himself. He is immediately disgruntled at the sight of Raph when he first shows up to taunt the group. He also hates Ethel and Mizora <3

[ during Raphael's encounter ]

Dareth: Poetic riddles get you nowhere and neither will this man. Tell him to shove off.

[ after bringing Tav back from House of Hope ]

Dareth: If you are considering a deal with this Devil then I can see you only as weak. There is never any need to make deals such as these.

( if Tav responds with something along the lines of 'I'm not' ) Dareth: Good. I do not wander with idiots. / Dareth approves.

( if Tav responds with 'Maybe I am/It could be useful' ) Dareth: Those who seek the quickest end will surely find it. / Dareth disapproves.

ROMANCE OPINIONS

Dareth doesn't care who you spend the night with because what you seek pleasure in is your own business as he expects you to treat him with a similar amount of respect. He does have little quippy comments though, we love a gossip queen sometimes! These are not full romance dialogues (I absolutely would write out a whole chain of dialogue for him) but just the comments he makes at the tiefling party

on astarion. Dareth: I see it is more than his teeth that have sunk into you. on shadowheart. Dareth: You would do well to treat her with kindness, souls as haunted as that crave what they don't know.

on lae'zel. Dareth: If she does not break you like a twig you will have earned my respect.

on wyll. Dareth: I saw you talking with Wyll. That is perhaps the first time I have seen his face light up in some way since what had happened with Karlach.

on karlach. Dareth: It would perhaps be more efficient to toss yourself into the firepit.

on gale. Dareth: I would not bring any magic attire if I were you.

[bhaalspawned-dragoness]

From the very first moment Raddox had laid eyes upon the Chosen of Bane deep in the bowels of Moonrise Towers, something ceaselessly gnawed at the draconic man's fractured mind. Where everything else around him save for violence and gore was numb, this mysterious human was causing something within him to stir. The longer Raddox thought of his face, the more voraciously the headaches would return. He'd learned enough to know by now that only two things roused the aching in his skull--defying his nature ... and connections to his lost memories. This 'Enver Gortash' knew something. He had seen it in his eyes from the moment their gazes had met during the coronation. That recognition was palpable. Taking the rest of the Netherstones for his own would have to wait. Like a wolf circling a herd of sheep, Raddox waited for his opportunity to get the Chosen of Bane alone, never letting his crimson eyes fall from the man as he maneuvered through the crowd and chit-chatted away with unknown face after unknown face. None of them were of any consequence. He would gladly carve through them like a scythe through the grass if it would speed him towards getting his prey alone. His blood yearned for it, boiling with the pent-up urge to rend flesh and shatter bone... Ah, but such pleasantries would have to wait. Now was not the time to make a mess, however gratifying it might be. A more subtle approach was required. And so the sorcerer situated himself by the refreshments table, helping himself to a goblet of wine as he remained satisfied with observing his quarry from a distance. @fatewoven

[usagimen]

          With careful preparation each chord is gently plucked, she watches all of them intermix, entwine together. From the sway of perfumed silk to laughter drunk off berry wine, it's redundant, nothing more than to gain political status. The clanking of goblets that splash, she moves to keep herself out of the rancor, the bardess who has no intrigue except for creating an exquisite song that would haunt all. Humanely in her persona, she moves with trepidation, bowing pleasantly in monochromatic colors as the crowd. "Everyone who is anyone seems to be here" then she pauses, in an ethereal form the hellfire is unseen in her gaze, still it remains sharp in caustic emerald. "Including you, a connoisseur of the arts I presume?" 

// @fatewoven (Gortash // s.c.)

[sanguinir]

@fatewoven & Gortash asked : "you know i could have helped with that" empathetic starters - no longer accepting

𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙻𝙰𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙴𝚁   𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃   𝙴𝚁𝚄𝙿𝚃𝙴𝙳   𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼   𝙷𝙸𝙼   𝚆𝙰𝚂   𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙳   𝙰𝙽𝙳   𝙷𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙻,   gasping   for   air   that   his   lungs   didn’t   need   and   bloody   tears   threatening   to   spill.   There   was   no   mirth   to   be   heard,   no   joy   warming   the   sharp,   immortal   lines   of   the   pale   elf’s   face.  

Astarion   had   to   be   exceptionally   clever   to   have   been   appointed   a   magistrate   in   his   thirties      —      clever   with   words,   clever   with   contracts,   clever   with   people.   Cazador   had   not   always   given   the   most   thorough   of   instructions   on   the   little   hunts   he   sent   his   spawn   on   and   the   former   magistrate   had   exploited   the   loopholes   ruthlessly,   hunting   for   a   way   to   sever   his   master’s   control   over   him   for   at   least   one   hundred   fifty   years   with   no   success.   At   least,   until   the   tadpole   had   set   him   on   the   path   to   Ascension.  

The   prospect   of   this   ambitious   and   manipulative,   yet   otherwise   unremarkable,   human   man   could   save   him   was   beyond   moronic.   Enver   Gortash   was   a   great   many   things,   but   a   philanthropist   and   humanitarian?   A   person   who   did   things   out   of   the   goodness   of   his   heart?   A   person   who   would   expend   his   resources   for   a   spawn   who   had   nothing   to   offer   outside   of   paltry   gossip   of   the   goings   on   in   his   master’s   house?  

No,   this   was   the   platitudes   of   a   political   animal   sorting   out   whether   or   not   it   was   still   the   top   of   the   food   chain   or   if   it   had   finally   been   reduced   to   prey.   Astarion   didn’t   need   to   blink   the   scarlet   film   of   his   tears   from   his   eyes   to   see   what   was   happening.   Gortash,   perhaps   feeling   off-balance   for   once,   possibly   even   feeling   the   tiniest   bit   of   fear   in   the   face   of   a   recently   evolved   apex   predator.   Jockeying   for   favor   like   he   was   still   a   neophyte   to   the   political   landscape   of   Baldur’s   Gate   and   not   the   man   that   had   manipulated   his   meteoric   rise   from   the   gutter   to   the   annals   of   power.  

❝      If   I   didn’t   know   better,   I   would   think   you’re   auditioning   to   be   my   court   jester,   Gortash.   I   do   think   you’d   look   rather   charming   with   those   shoes   with   the   stupid   bells   at   the   toes   to   match   the   garish   outfit   .   .   .   Perhaps   I   should   order   some   delivered   so   you   can   dance   for   me,   as   an   apology   for   that   poor   attempt   at   empathy.      ❞      Leaning   in   with   burning   scarlet   eyes   and   fanged   mouth   pulled   into   feral   mimicry   of   a   smile,   the   ascended   vampire   issued   his   threat.   ❝      You   survived   playing   games   with   me   then,   but   you   𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍   𝒏𝒐𝒕   survive   those   same   games   now.   Have   I   made   myself   clear?      ❞

[storystrung]

@fatewoven summoned orthax / perhaps that's why i find your obvious disdain for me so refreshing.

Tendrils of smoke flitter around the edges of the room. Where Percival goes, Orthax is surely lingering with him. However, his favored puppet has gone and found someone else to play with him and it is a needless distraction.

Orthax allows Percival friends. Allows him the frivolous things. So long as he's feed. This isn't his first visit and it will most certainly not be his last. Percy looks at Enver but it isn't really Percy. It's a husk of the human he is and Orthax speaks through him like a vessel, their voices intertwining. " You distract the boy. "

A hand reaches out and grabs Enver by the wrist. Percival would never grab him with such a ferocity as this (the hand twitches, giving away that Percy knows what is happening beneath all this) but Orthax does not care. " AND I HUNGER. " the grip on the other's arm goes slack. As does Percival where he sits, he nearly folds over himself in the process.

A plume of smoke takes place now, completely obscuring Percy away. An illuminating fire of hate showing the hellish eyes and mouth of the demon possessing the man who was just sitting before him. " I will consume him until there is nothing left. Until there is only hatred and bloodlust. But he owes me more than that first and they are close. I FEEL THEM. THEY WILL BE MINE. I WILL FEAST. "

[avernusdamned]

Karlach rolled an intimidation check against @fatewoven for total of: NATURAL 20

Karlach walks up to Gortash with a cool and steady walk. This is all she's ever dreamed of for ten years. Ten long years. Counted days and counted nights have lead her to this path. A path she never dreamed of walking. It could have been so much different. So much better. They would have ruled this city together but not like this. Never like this. Not seriously.

And she'd be lying if she said this is actually what she's dreamt. Her days in Avernus were mostly spent wondering why. Thinking of how she'd spit in his face if he ever apologized. She didn't even get that. Not really. He apologized for her emotions not his actions. Cruel devil of a man. She should have realized. She should have known. But her days were spent thinking of that dream he had asked her of. For comfort. Stability. And he gave her this...

" Do you remember what I said before? When I was denied taking out your disgusting little throat in favor of that little 'deal' you tried to make? " Despite her voice being nowhere near the state of rage it still booms with the gift of thaumaturgy. " I said you were going to beg. " Her teeth snarl, grinding together before she gets in his face, sword gripped in her hand tight. " You would cry and weep: Please, Karlach spare me. "

She spins the sword, burying the tip into the ground. A burst of flame engulfing her as she prepares the full range of her voice. " So BEG. BEG ME FOR YOUR LIFE, LITTLE MAN. MAYBE I WILL BE MERCIFUL. Maybe I won't. "

[silksworn]

[ approval ]  mixed with jewelry or laces....him complimenting her attire while adjusting something :)

[ approval ]  your muse complimenting mine on a choice they’ve made + [ jewelry  ]  your muse clasping a piece of jewelry for mine , such as a necklace , or earrings . 

Perplexingly enough, Enver lingers after he has been spent in her bed. Irastera herself had stood as soon as sweat had cooled and breaths been caught, making note to instruct one of the servants to change her sheets before she returned to her chambers next. Better to let the maids have the merry chore of scrubbing blood from the linens.

His staying surprises Iraestra more than it probably should. When better to study another than following a vulnerable moment, after all? What secrets might they reveal after the being bound to another so? The fleeting thought comes to her before she dismisses it, already moving on to more pressing matters. Such as where her robes and underthings have been banished to.

She feels the weight of his eyes on her as she readied herself, putting back on once more the vestments of a feared wizard in place of a paramour’s nakedness. Enver’s little quips as she paces the room thrice in search for the sister to the emerald bauble clutched in her hand only adds to her mounting frustration. Suddenly, she can’t stand the sight of him. The prick of the post against her palm goes quite unnoticed.

“You are taking far too much pleasure in this,” she observes crossly, holding out an expectant hand for her jewelry. Enver only serves to astonish her further when instead of handing it over he beckons her closer, hand wrapping around the back of her neck as if to kiss her once more.

His hand is a hot brand at her nape, fingers tightly twined into the hair at the root. Hold tight enough to be a collar or a lead. Ordinarily, Iraestra would rankle at such a clear show of — authority, possession, dominance? — and part of her still does. The venomous words on the tip of her tongue are instead stymied quite soundly as he places the missing earring in it’s place, calloused fingers soft on her earlobe. An astonishingly familiar gesture, somehow both service and claim. Of all the lovers she has ever had, she cannot say she has ever had anyone do such.

Enver’s touch is intimate in the same way a blade would make a home of a chest. Even though he is flushed flesh against her, mortal and touchable, Iraestra suspects that any true warmth in him would be found in the hot rush of heart-blood after the cut.

She barely registers what he says next.

Non-Sexual Acts of Dominance / @fatewoven

[limpfisted]

When you were the Blade, Dammon wants to begin with, but he holds fast to what Karlach divulged about Wyll, voice softer. More tired. The mantle of Duke fits him like a poorly made suit. As in, it's too constricting a role. Dammon turns his head, smiles at Karlach waving at them before she scoops up more kids on her shoulders to spin around, and he steps closer to his partner's best friend. Soulmate. However their close bond goes. "As the Blade, you're obligate to slay fiends and heartless monsters. I think, if I ever hurt her, I would fall into that category rather easily." It's softly spoken permission for retaliation. He blinks, gaze cast to his hands. "I'm glad she has you in her life."

“I may tease her. And I will always tease you both…” He smiles. He does not look at Dammon. His eyes both focus on the children, on Karlach. A part of him always wonders what Mizora thinks, when she sees Karlach so happy.

“But I have never, not for one moment, wanted her to be mine.”

He nods his head. “She is not mine to give or take. I want Karlach to always be what she is, everything she is, wild, brilliant, impossible, free as she made herself, free as she was meant to be. She should burn, she should touch, she should sing, and dance, she should be with whoever she likes, whenever she likes, whether it makes her sad, or joyful, or angry.”

He sighs, a cheap, hot breath of laughter. “I fear more for you from her, if you hurt her.”

“I owe you a great deal, for letting me see her smile like this. More than that. For all you’ve done for her engine and her heart.”

“You will always have a place at my table. As long as I draw breath-you shall want for nothing.” He pumps a fist to his chest, over his heart, the badges on his uniform from new accolades, new years of service, “My Father always said—‘repay your debts, not just with ample interest, but with an investment in further kindness betwixt both parties.’ One good turn deserves another, and all that….”

“So, all that being said….”

He finally turns to him, with a much more serious, resigned expression.

“How much of a dowry should I prepare for the wedding?”

[xastarion]

❛ i see you don’t recognize me. well, it was a long time ago. ❜ / what if astarion ran into enver a decade or so back during his peak criminal underworld days :>

Astarion's head is so full already of the faces he has wronged. Of the innocents he has condemned. It's hard for him to recall a face unaffiliated with Cazador anymore.

But Astarion smooths his features into what he hopes is a convincing smile. "I must only apologise, love. I cannot imagine what would have made me forget such a lovely face."

[underdarken]

@fatewoven sent: ❝ What you want and what the world needs are not always in accord. ❞

" I'm sure on some grander scale, you might even be right about that. "

They'll grant that. What else are they but a drop at sea? Measured against a ripple, a wave, a tide - Arkezet knows the score. One weighed against the many is one for the many. It's a sound philosophy until they hold it up to the scrutiny of the present.

The simple truth is everyone wants something.

" But we aren't speaking in terms of altruism here. We can admit to that much. That begs the question: what do I get? "

And perhaps the most glaring detail of all: " For that matter, what about you? "

[blindshoot]

Are there any moments in the game that trigger unique dialogue for your character?

Do they have their own personal quest that spans the course of the game? Can it take different branching paths depending on the choices the Player Character makes?

COMPANION QUESTIONS

YES TO BOTH, these are both actually so incredibly detailed that i'm working on a doc (my mind is huge and i will create even the tiniest of content as if he belongs in this game) that will have all of this in one place BUT i will go into some of the details here since all of it is still a wip

UNIQUE DIALOGUE

There's a druid in the grove that has contacted Dareth to be here. You do not know who they are but there is a particular redhead that finds her way to the ox stables where Dareth sits. You can ask him who she is if you find them in conversation but he will not let you go far about it. HOWEVER if you manage to find her back near the druids, she will let it slip that her and Dareth are "friends".

If Tav does not find out Dareth is a werewolf on their own, a long rest cutscene will begin with the full moon. A perception check will determine whether the player is able to hear something in the woods and further investigation checks will lead you to Dareth beginning to shift. He will warn you to stay away. Run if you can. A tree of options include: Try to help. / The player stays with Dareth as he shifts and must make an animal handling check to soothe the beast. A failure isn't damning, the player will simply be frightened as Dareth roars in their face. Do as he says. Leave. / Tav gets to the safety of camp, you can discuss the night prior with Dareth who has returned (with a condition that I have to figure out and name until another long rest, his version of astarion's 'Happy') Attack. / As it says you attack Dareth and he either kills you or you kill him.

PERSONAL QUEST

this is a HUGE WIP but Dareth's personal quest lies in Act II the first time you enter moonrise towers. It's hard to bring Dareth in, as he doesn't have a tadpole, but if you do, Dareth will be immediately recognized here by someone who he thinks he does not know.

Eventually he will realize that this is his childhood friend, Ship. Currently, they work under Kethric and are inherently a threat. Dareth will beg you to not do anything, even as Ship taunts the group. It will take a series of checks to make sure Ship does not attack the player, Dareth being around possibly gives situational advantage.

Ship can be brought to camp and Dareth will ask you to help him work with his friend and bring them back to their senses. He fears he will have to put them down like a rabid dog otherwise. You can learn more about both Ship and Dareth during this quest and it will unlock a lot of dialogue with Dareth as he will be more open to speak with you.

[rxverie-s]

a vessel can have many purposes. / to nevaris :)

"It can." The monk agrees, voice soft. His red eyes focus on Enver, squinting ever so slightly in the abundance of light that ever seemed to plague the surface.

"A vessel is often used to serve a need. The determining factor of its use is the answer to the question: What does one need?" He continues, watching this opulently dressed human with an intelligently sharp gaze.

Nevaris does not smile. Likely an unsurprising detail, given the multitude of scars carved into his dark flesh. "What need brings a man like you to speak to a man like me, I wonder? A need to discuss philosophy, perhaps?"