goodmorrow | Event: It Speaks of My Death, but I Am Unafraid

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Event: It Speaks of My Death, but I Am Unafraid

it speaks of my death,
but i am unafraid

autumn squashed | devotion | clairvoyance | ooc notes

all hallowed plays

Autumn Squashed As the brisk autumn air bites and the sun reigns for less and less time each day, the farmworkers happily begin to share the fruits of their efforts. The group of gourds is bountiful this season, praise be to the Old Ones, and the offerings from the local cooks has adjusted accordingly. Hearty bowls of squash soup abound, creamy and loaded with heavy calories to facilitate hard labor outdoors. All these strapping novitiate lads can surely set their minds to rest and help out more than they have been

The children of the village also appear to be enjoying the season, grabbing the leftover vegetable shells and carving creatures into their skins. The result of their creativity is that the town has started to glow at night, lit by the ethereal radiance of dozens of candles filtered by the grinning shapes just barely shading them. It all seems to normal, as long as you aren't outdoors too late.

Just past midnight, when the moon has reached its height, the carvings seem to find their own cravings. Something about the moonlight seems to resonate with that of the lanterns and prompts them to sprout from the ground on gangly, misshapen bodies of their own. From then until dawn, they wandeer the town like sentries, hissing warnings in the incomprehensible tongue of the Old Ones. They aren't harmful if left unprovoked, but will retaliate if they encounter violence from those prone to beast-slaying. It is advised to stay indoors to avoid becoming gored by a gourd.

if we die tomorrow

Devotion The day of Devotion sends a thrum of excitement around the town every time it happens. It is an honor to be allowed to show the Old Ones that the community accepts and cherishes the watchful eyes looking over them. It is a time to meet with their own wretchedness and come to terms with the insignificance of their lives. This month is intended to be a celebration of longevity and the centuries-long legacy both behind and ahead. Those who attend the Devotion receive an anonymizing mask to shield their identities from all but the eyes above. They are encouraged to ply themselves on food and drink before the start of the ritual itself.

The speeches are long and droning as ever, detailing the infinitesimal smallness of humanity and the thrumming wait for the end of all things. And once the elders begin to chant in more ancient words, the rhythm of the unpronounceable syllables feels safe somehow. There is protection in the ceremony, an assurance that these chosen few are the ones who will live to watch the end of everything else. Those who truly believe will see it in their minds' eye: a rain of fire consuming the home they remember best. Corpses left unburied while the survivors flee. A sky cracking open to reveal an indigo thunderstorm. Skeptics might only witness confusing flashes, but all will bear witness to some version of The End.

When the visions subside, the affected will feel an urge to behave as if the gathering is the last day of their lives. Throw caution to the wind. Live dangerously. Tell that special person they are loved. Carry out the vengeance that weighs on your spirit. It'll all be over soon. Make the evening count.

the future refused to change

Clairvoyance After the masque ends, participants are free to remove their veils and return to their everyday lives. It's something the townsfolk historically do with ease. They never seem to struggle when coming down from the emotional highs of the devotional acts. But the comedown is never quite as simple as they make it look.

Those who were present at Devotion will experience small aftershocks for days afterward. Without warning, they will see visions of doom about the people around them. It might be a simple precognition, like seeing someone fell into an open pit while there's still enough time to pull them out of harm's way. But other times, the visions are more graphic or disturbing, such as watching that same friend be mauled by a bear or stretched out on the rack until they are rent limb from limb. Each look into the future seems more grotesque and awful than the one before, but at least there's time to change things before the worst of it arrives. Surely there's time.

As they drop off clean laundry and fresh gossip, the washerwomen insist that these visions, varied and sometimes entirely untrue, are the latest gift from the Old ones. It is proof that the town remains blessed.

ooc notes

It's an event! Hopefully there's something to your liking.

Regarding the pumpkin monsters in particular, this seems like a group that likes to randomize battles. If you're in the mood to roll for initiative and see how things pan out, here are some stats for appropriate critters: Pumpkin King, Pumpkin Tendril, and some smaller chompy pumpkins.

With regard to the precognition side of things, there's a lot of room for visions. They can be "something that definitely will happen" regardless of what a character tries to change things, "something that could happen but is prevented by a quick-acting psychic," or "something that will never happen but sends a character into a panic anyway." People seeing a doomsday vision at Devotion are welcome to envision the worst possible bad ending their canon has to offer.

Have fun giving your characters a little spook during the appropriate season!

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[ He was fluttering to the metaphorical floor, eddying downward and downward in a pool of heady desire, all of his body felt like liquid though he made an attempt not to put his full weight on the other man, however in supplication and a final gift-- his head angled to the side to reveal the line of it.

And poised their on the precipice, his pulse right where Astarion could sink his teeth into. Supplication, a final meal for the other man to partake in, the sheen on that neck was misted in a combination of sweat and musk and would flavor Gale's blood likely in such a delicious way. ]?

Would you?

[ Perhaps the last moment that they could take for each other and his own way of offering himself fully for Astarion. ]

[Astarion would all too happily be trapped beneath the wizard's weight, would only bask in the warmth and the knowledge of being held to the earth as the world crumbled around them. He looked up at Gale with dazed crimson eyes, still awash in the ecstasy of their coupling. But distracted or not, Astarion would not miss that invitation.

It called to him, the way he could hear Gale's heartbeat, knew exactly where beneath that warm, sweat-sheened skin he could sink his fangs into that smokey, magic-infused blood. His throat suddenly went dry with the sudden surge of thirst, need.]

I... yes, of course.

[As if he would ever turn down such a gift. He leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Gale's neck, tongue dragging to taste the musk and sweat left on that warm skin, and then fangs followed, sinking into flesh. Astarion groaned at the first hot splash of blood against his tongue, clinging to him once more.]

[ Astarion's mouth found that pulse, tongue dragging over it and Gale nearly moaned in a way that he hadn't before. The first time, it had been sustenance-- and while yes, this was the fulfilling of a need, there was something blatantly sexual about it-- overt instead of subversive that filled him and had his eyes falling shut in a amber heaviness.

He slipped onto his side then, knowing that hew as going to become a pool of molten fire. Every evocation spell, he felt humming through his veins while that hot gush of dark red blood fought to bejewel Astarion's tongue. This was intrinsically sensual and his fingers slipped around that waist even as his head hit the pillow.

Such a reduction that he had come to, it was amazing and he encouraged Astarion with the stroking of those fingertips, to drink deep of him while his mouth managed to both hum and pant at the same time, thereby making quite the mess of himself as he slipped from Astarion.

The bed would have to be prestidigitated, he knew-- as his come slipped out from hole and down thighs, but his body still welcomed the intrusion and likewise welcomed those fangs that slipped into his flesh as if it were butter at the perfect temperature to be spread. ]

[It was not the first time he'd tasted Gale's blood, but he believed it could be the last, and no matter what it was, it was still precious. Gale had offered his blood freely, the trust implicit in that as much a gift as the feeding itself. Astarion shifted with the wizard as he settled back, one hand moving to cradle at the opposite side of the wizard's neck.

He could feel that blood rush through him, warming him from the inside out, giving him the faint flutter of life within his veins. It was undeniably sensual, to find himself full of Gale's blood, just as he was already full of his spend, warmed through by all of him.

Willpower was a challenge, but still, the vampire forced himself to withdraw as he heard the slowing of Gale's pulse, pressing a reverent kiss to the wound he'd left, lips stained red with blood, eyes bright with the life racing through him.]

Thank you.... [A soft murmur, barely above a whisper.]

[ He felt deliciously heavy as his heartbeat slowed to a honey-like drip, his lips just as equally heavy as he realized in this moment that he would've let Astarion drain him-- his final memory of this word was that single star glittering in the sky and him just underneath it. His head fell against his pillow and he rather felt like he'd never be able to lift his head again-- or anything for that matter.

And than that 'thank you' came, warm and absolutely sincere (by now he could tell the difference between seriousness and facetiousness when it came to the vampire) and if he died this morning, it would be on the arms of whatever this was; there was no nobility in death but there was this right here and he found he liked it quite well. If he was to go out, he wanted it to be knowing he'd served Astarion like this in every single way. ]

Mmmmm.. hold me?

[ Until the end took them, until the sky took fire. He did not think that he would notice it too much with this feeling that raced through his veins like molten starlight. His words were a plea, and he may have felt self-conscious before.. but now pride was rather a moot point for him, for either of them really though he would not speak for Astarion. ]

[Astarion would not be the death of Gale Dekarios. He would not forgive himself for that, even if the world ended a few moments later, he would not want to waste what time there was that he could be within the wizard's warmth. With a final brush of his lips, and a brief swipe of his tongue, along the two wounds he'd left, he drew back to look at Gale.

That request nearly undid him and he moved to settle himself beside the wizard, half draped atop him, arms moving to wrap around him securely.]

Of course. For the rest of our lives, darling.

[And oh he meant it, secretly meant it even if the world weren't about to end. He leaned in, lips grazing along a bearded jawline, seeing no reason to deny himself these tentative, uncertain displays of affection. They were new and he was terrible at this, but what could it hurt to try now?]

[ Sleep would come very soon for him, such as was the heaviness in his limbs, and the weight of Astarion across him, he found he did not need to move or shift for the vampire brought it all so cleanly to him-- cleanly and beautifully, like a blanket meant to ease his ever-worrying mind.

Gale did manage to lift his hand so that he could press it to the back of Astarion's hair, fingers weaving through tendrils as if that would prevent the man from escaping.

The 'the rest of our lives' brought a chuckle though he would question the sincerity of it within the morning light where then world would stand still and they would remain within it.

Questioning the motivation-- and what could've been stated within the cold morning's embrace-- right now there was only the soft breathing of his chest and the weight of Astarion, and fond touches that sang poetry against each patch of skin that he could locate. ]

[Astarion's eyes drifted shut as those fingers sank into his curls, exhaling a contented sound, stretching briefly before settling himself fully back draped against Gale, an oddly feline movement, sated and satisfied as he was. He could feel that chuckle as much as he heard it, and he smiled to himself, just as pleased.

Good. Let the world end with both of them together, warm and as content as the vampire could remember feeling since his first life had ended. He was silent now, listening to heartbeat and the rise and fall of breath. Let everything end, and let it end exactly like this.

He'd let his trance take him eventually, after he'd spent enough time basking in the warmth of being held for the first time that he could remember.]

[ Gale cannot remember having ever slept as good. Normally he was in and out of consciousness because of the orb held within his chest, he dreamed of things unavoided-- such as explosions and sacrifice, he dreamed of repudiation by his goddess; her look of disapproval and rage that he must endure.

Such a deep sleep, his arms wrapped around Astarion's back while the pillow cradled his head-- the sleepy thrum of heartbeat just underneath the vampire; occasionally his fingers would stroke up spine and that was not even something that he was conscious of, a guiding of fingertips within the mantle of rest.

And Gale did snore, it was not the sawing of wood but it was a little purr at the back of his throat that at times lent itself to a rhythmic snuffle, a vibration that moved in conjunction with heartbeat.

Gale Dekarios was well and truly dead to the world. ]

[Eventually even Astarion slipped into the elven equivalent of slumber himself, and let unconsciousness take him while he remained tucked against and wrapped around the wizard.

Morning arrived and eventually the vampire stirred, eyes fluttering open against the errant streaks of the sun that flicker through the window. That still was not something he would take for granted, being greeted by light, softer and brighter than the cold pale glow of the moon. He started to smile and considered enjoying the moment half bathed in sunlight, warm and tucked close to--

Ah. Right there was that. Gale. They'd let themselves get swept up in each other with no thought of consequence because everything was ending. But here they were, the dawn had come, the world continued on, and.

Well, fuck. This was going to complicate things, wasn't it? Shit. Fuck.

Fuck.

The way he saw it, there were two ways to go about this. First, he could try to slip away without waking Gale and they pretend this whole thing never happened and Astarion could just torture himself with the memories of someone finally touching him with reverence and care like he mattered for the rest of his long, immortal days. Joy. He'd probably also have to give up his favorite snack, and that wasn't even remotely fair.

Or he stayed and found out just how badly things were broken, maybe found some way to turn this obvious disaster into something more. He could do that.

Fuck it. He wanted breakfast. ~~And he wanted Gale.~~

So in full utterly spoiled cat mode, he nuzzled himself up beneath Gale's chin, nipping at the edge of a strong jawline before crooning, in a purred singsong tone,]

Darling, wake up. You'll never guess what didn't happen.

Edited (grammar fix) 2023-11-27 23:39 (UTC)

[ There had been such a nice dream and he had been tucked warm and safe all of the night, held within the confines of something more than a Goddesses' cold and distanced touch; the Weave the only thing that threaded together. He'd felt needed and wanted, had served and it had been appreciated. He allowed himself a mrrrrrh as he shifted a bit, cheating himself closer.

Mmmm lips, those were not something that he would turn his nose up at. And the angle of his neck certainly did paint the rosy dawn light right there against a strong column, to the edged comet tail of the orb as it sank downward in a metaphorical blaze of glory; perhaps a metaphorical attestation to what he believed his fate to already be.

Words.

The Wizard of Waterdeep slowly blinked though his lids felt like honey. That could very well be because of the depth at which he was supped from before falling asleep, and then he found his own voice-- recognizing, Astarion? But only vaugely.

Did he fall asleep here last night, he was struggling to recall what happened. ]

Mmmmmm?

[ And that was probably the least wordy that Astarion had ever heard the other man barring a cock filled that delicious mouth ]

[The vampire laughed. Gods help him, was Gale always this much of a mess in the morning? It was a little pathe... oh he was he trying to fool. It was endearing. He was endeared. How annoying.

Another nibble at Gale's jaw, still making himself quite at home since he hadn't been shoved away yet. He'd work with that. He was supposed to be good at seduction, wasn't he? It had been what he was used for for centuries, and he had become entirely too skilled at his purpose. This was... different somehow though. This was something he was choosing, something he'd already chosen and was not yet ready to let slip away.

So it would sting so much more when he was rejected.

He'd tell himself that it made purely logical sense, to find a way to stay close to Gale, for protection, for that dangerous blood. Pure logic, certainly not just because he couldn't quite shake the way the wizard had looked at him last night, lips reddened and swollen from being thoroughly kissed, the bewilderment on the wizard's handsome face when Astarion had asked him what he wanted. That couldn't be why, clearly.]

No, that's a terrible guess. Try again.

[He scolded lightly, chilly fingers settling against the center of Gale's chest, just below the mark that the magic he harbored had left on him.]

[ Gale was always like this in the morning. Always groggy and a bit out of it, but this time he as deliciously drunk on sleep as if he had fully committed to it, allowed it to hold him close safe in the arms while he had slumbered and still memory invaded him. Right now surface feelings dictated that whatever was happening now felt absolutely right and he was not inclined to stop it.

That bought another hum to his lips which turned into something a bit more pronounced when he felt cool fingertips against his skin. Right now lips did not hold any true words to them but rather he was using them to speak his own feelings into the morning-- this sleepy warmth even as he cheated closer.

He took a step closer to the warmth of the voice, teasing lightness. ]

Heaven..

[ He managed to murmur. That was right yes? This must be some sort of afterlife, but he always thought that would be filled with far more cats.. dozens of flying cats that could be likened to Tara but were not quite her Ladyship. Also cake, there was always chocolate cake in the afterlife, scores and scores of it; and perhaps a jug or two of wine.. and books. ] I'm in heaven...

[There was no way this man could be for real, was there? Astarion couldn't help another laugh. Really, a brilliant wizard like this, that bad at mornings? Well, far be it from the pale elf not to take advantage of the moment, letting it draw out that much longer. Another stolen moment before it was ripped away from him, yes, he'd certainly take that.

Then Gale spoke and he could not help himself, leaning in to graze his lips against the other man's, lips that were speaking such utterly absurd, charming things.]

It can't be, darling. They'd never let me in the door.

[Monsters did not belong in heaven. No, if he ever did die, if something other than oblivion waited for him, it certainly was in the deeper parts of the hells. He was certain of that much at least.]

[ His voice was starting to come back to the land of the living, each more step firm in place as he let out a sigh of breath against cooler lips, the strange laughter and.. it was Astarion. It was starting to come back to him, the whole thing. Of meeting Astarion just after the banquet; the sermons-- the mote of premonition granted to them and then the whisper of something dire that had sent the two of them into each others arms.

Those details were still coming back. ]

But it has to be.. the end?

[ That was what they had been promised right? Well, Gale rather thought threatened was more like it, his head fell back against the pillow them-- separating his and Astarion's lips before they had a proper chance to meet, and was that not a shame? But there was many questions here now and it was not that he was disappointed, oh no-- he was glad but also--

Now he felt foolish. Had he thrown himself at Astarion like some sort of floozy? Clearly, that was the case.. he was starting to recall bits and pieces, how very much of hungry he had been for approval, for anything and oh the embarrassment rose high in his cheeks. How easy to misunderstand that gesture, for an equally broken boy-- that could be nearly devestating. ] We...

Alas, we lived and the world goes on.

[The vampire intoned solemnly. But his expression was turning guarded. The way Gale was reacting, well, perhaps he'd been right to fear that this would be a disaster. The wizard pulled away and it took Astarion a moment to remember to slide his usual mask back into place, to hide the uncertainty and brief glimmer of hurt at the way Gale leaned so quickly away.

Ah, well. It wasn't as if he could blame the wizard for not wanting anything to do with this -- with him -- if the world weren't immediately ending. He moved to sit up, suddenly wishing he'd slipped away unseen instead. Only fools hoped, and he did not have the luxury of allowing himself to be a fool.

So he summoned a smile, lazy and blithe, slipping back into the role of frivolous rogue.]

We did, yes. I rather enjoyed it all, if we're being honest. You're a generous lover. But if you'd rather forget it ever happened, I'll understand of course. Impending doom does cloud the mind and judgment a bit.

[ For a single moment, Gale had been in danger of being a bit vulnerable-- but therein lay the beginning of their misunderstanding in that he read off of that shift in energy, it hit his center of gravity and threw him quite off kilter. Truth of the matter was that none of them had the emotional acuity to successfully navigate a one-night stand quite like this.

And thus, the energy was exceedingly awkward.

The Wizard of Waterdeep shifted as well though it wasn't away-- just to a sitting position as well, now painfully aware that he was very very naked underneath covers. He cleared his throat while he attempted to work his mouth into thinking. ]

Ah no, I agree-- it was very nice-- [ Gods damn it, Gale-- nice was not something you said to a lover right after waking up. Especially shameful when a wizard with a fully proven grasp on the common language said such, there were perhaps hundreds of words to choose from and he chose 'nice'. ]

Is there anything else that I may do for you.. this morning I mean? [ And then that was when Gale realized that he needed to likely keep his mouth shut because he was absolutely muddling it up beyond all comprehension, any sort of hopes and prospects were falling face first into that sea of dreams, and shattering the mere illusion of it.

But he had been called generous, it was only natural that he see if there was any other services he may render, realizing that perhaps that was not the most romantic way to go about things-- certainly lacked more than a little bit of finesse. ]

Nice? Really?

[Astarion half scoffed, half laughed, lips pressing into a petulant pout because really, Gale. Nice was for pleasant weather or passing small talk.]

Clearly I'm losing my touch.

[But at least he was starting to feel less like he should have slipped away when Gale was still sleeping. So there was that. When Gale went and asked that next question, his laughter became less scoffing and a great deal more genuine. The wizard was utterly absurd.

This man had been the lover of a goddess. But the vampire realized that was its own complex and complicated situation.]

Well, I was considering asking for breakfast in bed. But. I find myself more interested in something else. [Not that he would turn down Gale's blood, mind, but first on his mind was,] Kiss me?

[ Breakfast in bed was rather what Gale was expecting. all considered. Perhaps mouth on his neck (which Gale rather thought got better the more times that Astarion did so, in a way that he rather was not sure that he should question overmuch). The request was unexpecting and yet gods, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he enjoyed the act of kiss.

Rather too much in fact.

And thus he slipped forward with his palm moving up against the shoulder and then to the neck before cupping the skin just underneath where curls kissed; a tender and beautiful gesture as his eyes managed to melt even further. Very carefully he swallowed, best not to talk too much when his mind was still jump-starting.

Which was how Astarion would find Gale's mouth brushed against his, as soft and as warm as velvet but with such a startling and crystalline tenderness; the lips parted and took a lower lip between his own and gave it a very concentrated kiss that focused solely on it, and perhaps the very tip of his tongue glided gently-- to memorize the shape of it, to taste it. And yet, it was also so hesitant and wary of driving Astarion away. ]

[It was utterly unfair that someone could possibly make a kiss such a warm, tender thing, how someone could be so achingly gentle. Astarion had not known it was physically possible, and even now it had his chest clenching tightly to realize that it was him being treated with such care and tenderness.

This absurd wizard with his sad brown eyes. How dare he. Yes, how dare Gale, even if this was exactly what Astarion had asked for. A kiss. He'd played himself.

But so be it. His lips parted, and there was a tentative brush of his own tongue along Gale's -- none of the usual polish and finesse and sweet seduction. No it was uncertain but wanting, inviting that continued gentleness, trying to understand how to answer it, though it was a foreign language on his tongue.]

[ For a kiss, he would find himself utterly rent into pieces. Fragments of his soul splintering further while he slowly and lightly moaned when their tongues touched-- how much power it had over him. There was an understated passion there, as well as a blessed giving; lips settled further apart in invitation for Astarion to come inside.

In fact, the fact that he was wrapped up in this sacred undoing-- oh his heart was absolutely and utterly rent into pieces and he wondered if he'd be ever okay again.

Something in Gale recognized that Astarion was a hunter, and thus he made the vampire hunt for that kiss, encouraged him to come in and claim him within. The coils of predatory lightly caressed and encouraged-- and Gale, despite his morality, would never force Astarion to be someone he was not. Would not reduce him to a pet or a catalyst, Astarion was more than that.. a vital force of nature.

And thus he would stroke those flames, bid them rise up-- for him. That is, if he so chose. ]

[Invitation was all that he needed, craved. There was, after all, something thrilling about being wanted, about being allowed. His tongue slipped past parted lips, the taste of Gale's lips a heady thing, reminiscent of the night before, the hint of that dangerous magic in his blood just in the undercurrent.

His fingers found their way to wind into dark hair, to tangle into soft strands and pull, holding him there. Oh yes, he wanted to claim him, wanted to have this man for his own at least in this moment.

Even better than blood, was the thought that flickered through his mind and nearly floored him when it filtered through to his conscious awareness. But it was somehow, to be treated like someone worth wanting, worth trusting.]

[ This was a dangerous admitting of two men who could not fully comprehend exactly what the breadth of their own feelings. It was so easy to twine and mix it up so as to blame it on raw physical lust-- the waters were murky and certainly uncertain within the need to traverse, and therefore Gale was not going to concentrate on it. It would be effortless to start obsessing, but instead he sank back under with his mouth opened and his tongue being tangled with.

Those fingers curved over the marble of Astarion's back as if he was ivory keys of an instrument that deserved to be played. Such exquisite noises as so he wanted to continue that melody, to play those gasps and moans.

The morning had dawned uneventful and strange, but here underneath the covers there was a safety to it. And his fingers wanted to explore as if the words could end still at any moment. It felt like a prolonging, even if the hours had reformed as untouched or blemished by apocalyptic intent.

There was always tomorrow.

Or the day after that. ]

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Event: It Speaks of My Death, but I Am Unafraid

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