abraxaslogs | january catch-all

[ Nocwich still depresses him. Months in the sunlight have lessened the effect, but there's still something stifling about the endless night, the reminder that this could be his fate again - that the day could be ripped away from him at any point. He does his best not to dwell on the thought, it's only difficult here.

What is nice about Nocwich, though, are the resources. Besides his meetings with Haelva, there's the bloodwine - and the woods. The latter two aren't really his preferred meals, there remains a marked difference between the blood of thinking creatures and roaming beasts. Still, any blood is better than starving himself.

The vicious deer-like creatures are his favorite to stalk and take down. One of the first things he stole was a small dagger - although truthfully he likes striking first with his teeth, using the cover of darkness to ambush his prey. He's learned to kill them quick lest they call the rest of their herd.

He hasn't quite kept track of how close to the edge of the woods he's wandered, having circled back not far from where the path leads to the square. He's already taken the beast down. The deer-creature lays dying on its side, legs still twitching as he remains hunched over it, latched onto an artery along its neck. The scent of blood is thick here, he doesn't have too much time before it attracts other predators - or others in general. ]

Edited 2024-01-05 00:28 (UTC)

( Urianger has taken to visiting Nocwich whenever the portals open up to that corner of Abraxas. It is a refreshing change of pace from the pomp and politicking of Thorne; while he is glad to surround himself with magick, mages, and all the castle's library has to offer, he finds the atmosphere behind the walls of the city somewhat ... stifling, for wont of a better word. Nocwich may be worlds apart from anything he's ever known before but it is different and he likes that—

Likes it as much as briefly stepping away from his responsibilities, pursuing his own interests, and giving himself something else to focus on beyond the shadow that yet lingers at the very back of his mind.

Urianger isn't stupid. He is well aware that it's foolhardy at best to wander into Nocwich's woods alone: the monsters aren't simply myth, they're extremely real, and they prowl through the underbrush with bared fangs and open jaws in the hopes that they might sniff out an Elezen playing at botany. A sound up ahead catches his attention — something small, something pained, which stirs the healer in Urianger into action, however he isn't quite prepared for the scene he discovers as he steps through a knot of ashen trees.

It's Astarion. Astarion, who Urianger already knows to be a vampire, and yet ...

Watching him feed seems somehow obscene, as though he might be witnessing something that the other man might rather keep to himself. Perhaps the most unsettling part is that Urianger can't quite find it within himself to look away; he watches on with a detached kind of fascination, his head ever so slightly tilted as Astarion swallows mouthful after mouthful of hot, red blood. It isn't until he shifts his weight and snaps a branch underfoot that he startles out of his trance: )

... Ah.

( Urianger takes a step back, but doesn't yet move to leave entirely. )

Forgive me — I mistook thy meal for a person in distress.

[ He's getting too comfortable in this world. He should've caught the sound of someone sneaking up on him far earlier than that snapping branch. In the dark everything turns shades of grey, and when his head snaps up his gaze lands on a tall, shadowed silhouette, outlined in the moonlight that breaks through the boughs from above.

Before fight or flee has a chance to kick in, a familiar voice calls out from the direction of the figure...

Astarion relaxes, slightly. The beast has finally stopped twitching, and he raises slowly so as not to startle Urianger any further. He hasn't made a bloodbath of a mess, but he feels hot, sticky life's blood dripping down the sides of his mouth, and can guess that there's a few stains on his cloak. By design it's already a deep crimson.

He feels - he's not sure. Flustered, at first. He's not been caught by someone like this before, not outside of battle. Never unawares. There's a pause before he says anything, bringing one hand to the corners of his lips to wipe away some of the blood, resisting an animal urge to lick his fingers clean. This beast may not have been a thinking creature, but its life force is strong. It gives the light buzz of finishing a glass of wine combined with a surge of confidence and energy that can be such an addicting combination, though lesser than what it's like after he's fed on Haelva... ]

Apologies for startling you, princeling. [ He gives a little mocking bow, continuing to play along with their little game. One eyebrow arches, he hasn't picked up any companions with Urianger... ]

You know, you really shouldn't be out here alone.

( Princeling, he says, and Urianger feels his lips curve into a wry smile; it's enough to have him dipping into a shllow curtsey at the acknowledgement of his supposed "status". It's enough to shake off any lingering feeling of unease that might have crept in around the edges of the scene — although Urianger is faintly surprised by how easily he has adjusted to the reality of seeing Astarion feed.

Perhaps it's the fact that the whole process isn't unlike watching a Voidsent consume aether. Such a feeding is a little less visceral, to be sure, but Urianger is well acquainted with creatures that need to consume the life-force of others for their own sustenance. The blood doesn't turn his stomach — he's a healer, after all, which means his constitution is strong in that regard — and while the beast is very much dead ...

Astarion seems energized, the ruby shine of his eyes somehow brighter for it. )

Perhaps not.

( He replies, because Astarion is correct. )

Wouldst thou believe me if I claimed to be hardier than I appear?

( Which is also a true statement, although in truth? He isn't entirely sure how he would fare against a vampire should his evening take a turn for the worse. Could regenerative celestial aether outheal another man's hunger? Urianger tilts his head as though considering, one fist curled beneath his chin, before attempting to dislodge that thought with a little shake of the head. )

Besides, now I have the good fortune of thy company, do I not? A knight of my very own, to protect his prince against the shadows.

[ Relief softly settles upon him as Urianger chooses to play along, seemingly comfortable despite what might've been a startling scene for most. The shift in Astarion's body language is subtle, he takes the response as an invitation to approach a few steps closer before stopping again. ]

It might take some convincing... [ his tone is gently teasing, his suggestive gaze moving up and down Urianger's form out of habit - and for fun. Had he not learned his lesson twice now, he might mean to do more than tease...

Those less pleasant realizations are ones he pushes back before they can claim any purchase within him right now. ]

And that you do. I am ever at your service. [ More teasing, more rakish smiles. It's too easy to be this way. His gaze skits past Urianger's shoulder, then back to him again with an arched eyebrow. ]

Where are we off to, then? [ What were you doing out here? ]

( And so, Urianger is teased. Had he not recently discussed with Thancred the nature of Astarion's teasing it might draw the same warmth to his cheeks it had the last time, but this time? It elicits a perplexed frown, a moment of hesitance, as though there's something he might want to ask—

But it is difficult, to ask for confirmation of one's own insecurities. Besides, unfamilair woodland crawling with monsters might not be the best place to enquire as to why Astarion teases him for sport, and so Urianger brushes it off with a wearied sigh before making a gesture towards the deeper part of the woods. )

There are samples of flora I would collect to research their magical properties — varieties of plant-life that I have only caught glimpses of in here the wilds of Nocwich.

( And perhaps it's because Astarion's smiles set him a little off-kilter that he continues honestly, distractedly: )

I also find it somewhat ... meditative, to journey hither. The ever-presence of danger is a balm to mine otherwise troubled thoughts; I cannot think of them when the entirety of my focus is needed simply to stay alive.

Edited (Sshhh it's late and Urianger talks stupid ) 2024-01-07 23:50 (UTC)

[ Hmm? That's new. He eyes Urianger curiously as they start to walk farther into the wood, wondering about the sudden shift in his response to the teasing - from pink-tipped ears to now frowning at him. Has he tired of the game already?

Perhaps his gift did not go over as well as he hoped?

Picking flowers isn't really how he wanted to spend his afternoon, but he's already agreed so - off they go. If he's lucky maybe they'll find something poisonous. Haelva would appreciate that. Maybe something to give to Viktor as a late holidays gift too, to put under his microscope.

He's paying attention, at least, and raises another eyebrow: ]

What has you so troubled that you prefer to stroll through monster-infested woods?

( Astarion's question pulls a hum from Urianger: )

What indeed.

( But instead of dumping the many and varied shapes of his trauma at Astarion's feet, Urianger merely shakes his head and offers a vague wave of the hand. )

Dost thou know aught of The Pit, and all that followed? A term coined by the Summoned who were abducted and taken to it — myself included. It was ... unpleasant, to say the least, and my memories of the place have weighed heavy of late.

( He glances towards Astarion, an apologetic smile touching his lips. )

Forgive me. I fear I am poor company today.

Edited (typooos) 2024-01-10 20:45 (UTC)

[ Astarion is still working out the kinks of his domain... predictably how to fly an airship-slash-castle when he has no idea how one should even function, let alone stay in the air without crashing. But Horizon is all about willpower, so - there haven't been any major accidents yet.

From the makeshift helm at the bow of the 'ship', he directs his domain through the skies over a patchwork of mismatched landscapes. He's not interested in landing anywhere today - at least he didn't plan on it. But as he's peering through his spyglass his eye lands on a patch of greenery set up for a little campsite: colorful tents haphazardly assembled at the edge of a riverbed and old, crumbling ruins that almost blend in with the rocks. It's too familiar not to be Haelva's domain, and he's instantly curious how faithfully she might've recreated their companions dwellings.

Real or not, he absolutely wants to poke through their belongings.

The ship hovers as close to the ground as possible without causing damage, his hovering platform taking him the rest of the way. To his surprise, there's someone already there, lurking near the water - ]

Of course you're here... [ Astarion dryly greets Withers. ] Don't tell me she's conjured the other one as well -

[ Volo, he means.

But instead of greeting him, Withers falls over. Alright. He steps closer to inspect, and finds a surprising amount of blood on the ground for what was once a piece of very stale jerky. He toes Withers' unmoving skull rather gently with his boot, feeling a sudden sense of unease - which is immediately intensified when said skull crumbles along with the rest of the body to reveal a pathway underground.

Well, that's ominous. Peering into the entranceway, however, does not reveal anything sticky, fleshy, or covered in tentacles. So that's a positive. Perhaps if this domain belonged to anyone but Haelva (surely it must be hers, it's not his) he might've taken some more caution and not sauntered down the stone steps to see what lies below.

A part of him wishes he hadn't.

It's not a long walk. He's immediately struck with the stench of blood from all directions. He'd enjoy that part, at least. It's everything else that has him pausing near the base of the steps. ]

What in the hells...

[ A massive skull carved into the rock stares down toward a stone platform, teeth bared in a malicious grin. ]

( Haelva hates her domain.

It wouldn't be difficult to like it if it ever stayed like she wanted -- a nice recreation of the camp she's certainly spent the most time in, with its nice beach and stream. But it always, without fail, reverts to something ghastly and fitting of the thoughts that she's doing her best to keep back. Though it would seem the longer she denies the Urge its desires the quicker it melds into what she suspects is a temple of Bhaal.

There's no other god that this... place would belong to. The altar where sacrifices must have been made, the sweeping steps further down from that which leads to a room that almost, almost feels familiar. But the lavishness with which it is decorated makes her feel more uneasy than anything else. It belongs to someone of high rank, of respect and reverence to the worshipers of Bhaal.

And what sort of person might that be?

One where blood calls to them to be spilled across stone and dirt, pledging to drown the world in it because their Father demands it. To let it run across their hands as they do their work, blessed by the only god that counts, the one that stares to them from the relief above, surrounded by the drops of blood.

So Haelva does her best not to stay long when she does visit, annoyed that the improvements to her owlbear cub seem to come when she's spent time here. And she likes the beast, enough that she'll put up with this damn place if it means seeing it stick around for longer. What she's not used to is anyone visiting-, and the feeling of someone else there is enough to shock her out of the trance she'd almost forced herself into in order to get through a few hours of visitation.

The answer of who in the hells would even get close enough to venture this far into her domain is easily answered when she spots familiar pale curls. Haelva rises up from the sunken sleeping quarters to meet Astarion at the altar, the corner of her eyes tight with stress but welcoming all the same. )

Admiring the décor? ( Haelva asks, with a grimace of her own. ) I've tried, time and again, to get it to change. But it always seems to come back to this.

[ He continues to study his handsome profile, thinking back to what he knows - there's been some talk about a pit and an island. Something about mushrooms. He didn't pay all that much attention, having decided that he'd rather not take the trip to crawl around dark and dank tunnels. Not without a good reason.

He sort of glossed over the whole kidnapping business... ]

The company is hardly poor. [ This, in both the sudden softening of his tone and his features, appears like it may be genuine. He waves his hand ahead of them. ] If you prefer to walk alone with your troubling thoughts this afternoon, I won't try to dissuade you. But you need not have to.

[ Urianger's darkened mood doesn't seem to bother him. He pauses for a moment, setting his gaze on the path ahead. ]

Do you intend to return to the island, with the others?

[ The footsteps immediately have him at alert, crouching slightly as he finds a dagger summoned to each hand, his body just as suddenly wrapped in thick leather drow armor in place of his camp clothes.

But as soon as he recognizes the short, slim figure he relaxes. The daggers go back into their respective sheaths, and though his armor remains his body language turns much more casual - a deception. As much as he can appreciate certain aspects of the décor - ominous red lighting, the dark stone, the scent of fresh blood wafting through the air - the massive skull cut into the stone sends a shiver down his spine. Seeing the stress in her eyes and the grimace when she speaks, he pushes back his own discomfort and does what he does best: ]

Time and time again, you say... [ he glances between her and the grinning skull thoughtfully, then - ] ... have you tried blowing it up?

[ With gunpowder. Lots of it. ]

( You need not have to.

That's what Himeka wanted him to understand, was it not? That he needn't bear his his burdens alone; that his companions won't think less of him to know that he is as susceptible as any to external pressures. To say he's a little surprised by the subtle shift in Astarion's demeanour would be an understatement, to say the least, however instead of shying away as he once might have done he accepts his words with a hint of warmth touching the corners of his lips. )

Thou art most considerate. ( He replies, as he glances down towards the other man. ) And I thank you. In truth, I fear it would be foolish to turn thee away. Thy teeth may prove a boon should we encounter any trouble.

( The tail-end of an eyebrow lifts as Urianger makes a vague gesture back towards the exsanguinated beast. Evidently, Astarion is a good person to have around while venturing through monster-infested woodlands. )

... Providing 'tis not thine intent to make dessert of me.

( Should he be joking about being eaten? Probably not???? )

As for the island, aye, it is— I must return. 'Tis difficult to explain, but ... I feel I need to end that chapter of the horrors visited upon me, upon mine own terms.

Edited 2024-01-15 16:51 (UTC)

( For a moment she wonders if he truly is going to attack her; he relaxes, and she is grateful for the way he hides his unease. There might be something she can do about that, in short order, if he's willing. )

Have I tried blowing it up-- well, no. ( Though it might be satisfying to do so. Still, she's not certain she could get close enough to its physical location in order to do so. ) It would be satisfying, no doubt, but the nature of this place makes me think that it would only return the next time I visited.

Why, are you offering to help?

( At least they could enjoy that. )

[ He flashes her a devious grin. ]

Of course.

[ As she says, at the very least it might be cathartic. Astarion glances thoughtfully between Haelva and the carving, tapping his chin. ]

What will it be? Fill the sockets with smokepowder and hurl fire at them? Arcane cannons?

[ This'll be fun.

~~If only Tav had them spend more time at the monastery...~~ ]

[ Considerate isn't a word most would use to describe him. His moments of empathy have been more frequent in these months he's been here, though. It's easier, he supposes, when one's life isn't under constant threat. With so much of his memory of his mortal life in blurred tatters, all he's known for over two centuries is the pain of starving and terror in between whatever new punishment would descend upon him.

He's had little time, energy, or patience to care about anything but his own survival.

Urianger's thanks is met with a light tip of his head, but when he mentions his intent, he grins devilishly. ]

Not unless you ask very, very nicely.

[ He's mostly sated, although he wouldn't say no to a taste. Anyway - ]

That's only natural, I suppose. [ His expression hardens for a moment as he thinks of his own revenge before smoothing out again. ] Burn it all to ashes, I say.

[ Not that he has a say. ]

( That's the biggest he can think of? Haelva's brow raises, and a slow smile comes over her face. )

Did your Tav never venture under that monastery? Come, I'll show you what you missed.

( It takes a moment of concentration, and then another, for her to feel that something has changed in her domain -- but nothing visible changes down below. They'll need to go to the surface for that, and Haelva gestures for Astarion to lead the way up.

Once they're back in that bloody, dead landscape he'll find one more important addition: a rusted metal framework and a slightly dull crystal -- clearly the magical weapon hasn't been spared from the corrupting influence of her subconscious. )

Behold -- the pure, concentrated power of the sun.

[ It's the slow smile that has him narrowing his eyes warily at her... ]

I mean, we did ...

[ Go down there. But all they found was that githyanki nest, and that awful device Lae'zel wouldn't stop crowing about. He'd been horrified to watch it nearly melt her brains...

Well, up they go, with him feeling only slightly like he's being led into some kind of trap. Not that he doesn't trust her, of course... ]

Well, that's new. [ He circles the device, then recognition. ] No, wait. We did find this. [ He kicks the rusty framework with a frown, then a curious glance in her direction. ]

Is it supposed to do something?

[ Because it sure as hell didn't when they found it. ]

( Not far enough. Haelva likes a puzzle -- enjoys chewing on it in the same way she enjoys studying a good spellbook or a scroll as she learns a new spell. It's something for her to enjoy that isn't bloodlust or murder. A rather safer option, as far as she's aware -- and the thrill that comes with discovering what, exactly, people intended on hiding can't be matched.

As for what it does... )

Oh yes. See, we managed to get ourselves down beneath even where the githyanki set up camp thanks to a well thrown bottle of oil. And it seemed like whoever made that little cavern didn't intend on someone who didn't worship their god rooting around. Or rather, they did, and wanted to make sure they didn't live to tell the tale.

( She allows her mind to imagine what it must have done, how it must have looked, the crystals staring to spin and the weapon's point of focus shifts, pointing down into the ground where the temple must be. It makes a damn racket, but not as much as it should, given that it still is subject to her will. )

Would you like to see?

A bottle... of oil...

[ That earns her an incredulous look, then a shrug. Fine. Maybe his version of their group weren't as curious as they could've been. In their defense, they'd been running for their lives.

He gives the mechanism another dubious glance just as it starts ominously whirring to life. Astarion leaps back a step, narrowing his eyes at the weapon - then at Haelva.

Hmmmm... ]

Alright. [ He shakes his head as he eyes her and adds lackadaisical tone: ] What's the harm - here?

( You know? That actually gets a snort of laughter from Urianger — a warm one, less strained around the edges than his earlier response to Astarion's easy flirtations. He can't say why because he doesn't know why, but if he were to think about it later? Perhaps it might have something to do with that momentary glimpse of Astarion showing him something a little more real.

... Maybe. Who's to say. Not Urianger, that's for certain. )

I confess, I find myself inclined to agree with thy verdict. Azeyma's cleansing flame may yet offer the island a new beginning.

( He wishes he weren't inclined to commit to the most destructive course of action, but even he can't deny the sense of catharsis that would follow in the wake of turning the place to ash. Urianger ponders his thoughts quietly for a moment before letting his gaze flit back to Astarion, his expression curious: )

... Might I ask of thee a question?

( A beat. )

Pertaining to the subject of thy sanguine appetite.

( The strength check was horrific and Haelva knows that amongst her usual group the only person with any hope of moving a stuck statue around is Karlach. It certainly wasn't going to be her or Astarion. She knows their strengths, after all.

That he's willing to indulge her still thrills her, and she grins -- ushering him to take a few steps further back. )

You'll like this.

( It whirs again, finally reaching full power, and then -- a blinding beam of concentrated sunlight erupts from the point of the crystal, blasting through the ground in a startling display of power -- the earth crumbles away, the camp falling into the abyss, followed by the bloody rubble of the temple of Bhaal, breaking apart in large, satisfying chunks. )

[ What's the point of this Horizon place if not to have a little fun? He'll easily take those steps back - because despite the air of confidence he's not too inclined to test the limits of pain and death, especially not one from a rather large magical cannon. A hand raises to shield his eyes...

The burst of light has him recoiling, nearly bumping into Haelva as he leaps back, the ground shaking beneath them as dirt and rock give way up ahead. As the dust literally settles his lowers his arms, blinking a bit owlishly at the destruction wrought before them - and then he turns to her with a delighted grin. ]

Well, well - ray of divine destruction, one. Bhaal, zero.

[ Does she want to try again. ]

[ It's a slightly undignified noise that laugh, not one he might expect from the elf. He finds the incongruence of it all a little charming.

When the conversation is turned back on himself, though, he pauses and studies Urianger for a second before giving a slight shrug, one arm wrapped across his middle and his hand casually holding the opposite elbow - that arm raised as he flicks his wrist. There's a hint of guarded curiosity in his eyes. ]

You may.

[ Whether or not he'll like those answers, Astarion won't make any promises. ]

Mine own experience of those who would consume the aether — that is, the raw lifeforce — of others is limited to that of Voidsent, and little has been written as to whether aether from certain sources is preferable to that of others.

( He comes from a time before Zero, after all, and has yet to pick Y'shtola's brain about her interactions with the Voidsent and potentially preferred types of food. Urianger keeps his gaze on Astarion, aware of the fact that he seems to have tensed up a little at the line of questioning, and so does his best to keep himself from straying towards anything too personal.

That seems to be Astarion's preference, or so he's come to think. )

Thou art no Voidsent, and thou consumest blood as opposed to aether. My query is this: dost thou have a preference in terms of source?

( He taps a fingertip against his chin as he considers his words. )

Thou didst drain a beast not far from here; is the blood flavoured differently to that of a Hyur? An Elf of thy world?

( A hand goes to steady Astarion, who clearly has no idea what he's in for -- she's delighted to show him this particular method of mass destruction. It's the little things between the two of them, Haelva thinks, that there is an open appreciation for well aimed violence. Perhaps that makes them more monstrous than their very natures, but so long as those that they turn themselves on are those who threaten the good in the world... perhaps it isn't all that bad.

Her smile is just as wide and sharp as his. )

You know just what to say to a probable ex-cultist.

( She absolutely does. The ground seems to stitch itself together again, though this is by Haelva's design rather than whatever base nature she has reasserting itself. It feels good to have that control over it, even as she feels her control is slipping in the waking world. )

Would you like a go?

[ Voidsent and aether is all nonsense words to him, really, but he's more than capable of following along toward Urianger's winding point of a question. It's not the first time he's been asked, and yes, it's impersonal enough that he doesn't mind spinning an answer - although how much is truth and how much is embellishment will be up to Urianger to decide. ]

Why, of course it makes a difference. I'd wager that my particular tastes aren't all too dissimilar from those that you describe... [ He waves his hand in the general direction of the beast he'd been feeding from. ]

A large predator such as that with all of its speed and strength is preferable to scavengers. But the blood of a thinking creature ... [ he narrows his eyes slightly and grins pointedly at his companion ] ... there's variations of course, between the young and the old - the beautiful and the wretched, but in general that is a far richer experience.

[ His preference may be a liquid diet, but it's all about life in the end - and stealing it. His gaze slides over Urianger's body before landing on his face again - expecting the other elf must be wondering what his own flavor might be...

Astarion could offer to tell him, but he finds himself holding back this time. ]

Do you really have to ask?

[ The answer is yes, yes he does want to blow things up with a giant radiant laser beam. He steps forward confidently... then stops, glancing from the device to her with a slight frown. ]

Ah - how does it work? Exactly.

( How does it work is a good question, and Haelva looks from him to the weapon, and back to him. )

I... well. It's my Horizon, so I simply think and it works. ( But that high intellect is doing its best, and Haelva quickly comes up with another idea. ) If I make it answer to your commands, it should work in the same way.

( Which she promptly does. )

If you'd like to imagine anything in particular-- say, a specific extremely gaudy, gothic palace.... that can also be arranged.

january catch-all

urianger; cw animal death and vampire feeding

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haelva; cw in this thread for gore, god of murder stuff, bhaal's fav princess durge

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we can probably wrap soon with them just blowing shit up lmao

LMAO YES feel free to next tag