𝑔𝑎𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑘𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑠 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
corporeity) wrote2024-11-12 12:45 pm
corporeity) wrote2024-11-12 12:45 pm
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WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME
@WATERDEEP
text 🔮 audio 🔮 video
WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME
@WATERDEEP
text 🔮 audio 🔮 video
Perhaps it’s an acquired taste.
[ 😔 ]
Do you encounter many demons in your…I hesitate to say line of work. Travels?
Not many here are familiar with multiple non-human species or entities, you see.
[ 😔 ]
Do you encounter many demons in your…I hesitate to say line of work. Travels?
Not many here are familiar with multiple non-human species or entities, you see.
I think Astarion'll turn me into pudding if I try to acquire it, and I can't say I'm tempted. No offense.
Well, yeah. I live on a hell mouth. Demons and other beasties come with the territory.
Most people just don't notice what's around them until they're getting swallowed whole, in my experience.
Well, yeah. I live on a hell mouth. Demons and other beasties come with the territory.
Most people just don't notice what's around them until they're getting swallowed whole, in my experience.
[ Without asking for permission, Armand reaches across to take Gale's hand in his own, arranging the placement of the chopsticks with gentle fussiness. He then demonstrates by picking up his own, holding them for Gale to observe as he picks up a slice of sashimi and deposits it on Gale's plate. He assumes Gale will be a quick study when it comes to matters of hand-eye coordination.
As for the observation, a wry smile appears on his face. Softer than it ought to be. He's tempted to retreat into melodrama, to explain that what happened is far from the worst thing he's ever experienced, that every vampire is born into a life of trauma and pain from their very first moment. Instead, he finds himself wanting to be honest. So he avoids Gale's eyes as he sets the chopsticks back down and picks up his glass of artificially warmed blood -- O neg, from a sweet young donor who had recently been given a quantity of alcohol, so it carries a trace of intoxicants. ]
I was allowed to feel.. emotions, sensations, that I haven't felt for five hundred years. I tasted wine and bread again. It has awakened.. [ He frowns faintly, rubs his thumb idly up and down the side of his glass. How to express the complexities of joy and grief of being given a glimpse of life again, after so long? ]
I had forgotten how to miss it. That is, perhaps, a gift.
[ Another tiny smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes as he glances up at Gale. ]
It's going to take some getting used to. But I will endure. If nothing else, I am built to endure.
As for the observation, a wry smile appears on his face. Softer than it ought to be. He's tempted to retreat into melodrama, to explain that what happened is far from the worst thing he's ever experienced, that every vampire is born into a life of trauma and pain from their very first moment. Instead, he finds himself wanting to be honest. So he avoids Gale's eyes as he sets the chopsticks back down and picks up his glass of artificially warmed blood -- O neg, from a sweet young donor who had recently been given a quantity of alcohol, so it carries a trace of intoxicants. ]
I was allowed to feel.. emotions, sensations, that I haven't felt for five hundred years. I tasted wine and bread again. It has awakened.. [ He frowns faintly, rubs his thumb idly up and down the side of his glass. How to express the complexities of joy and grief of being given a glimpse of life again, after so long? ]
I had forgotten how to miss it. That is, perhaps, a gift.
[ Another tiny smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes as he glances up at Gale. ]
It's going to take some getting used to. But I will endure. If nothing else, I am built to endure.
[ It’s all a bit ridiculous, but — he’s pleased to hear that Astarion would care enough to act, all the same. That feeling helps soothe his continued unease about the state of his blood. A natural consequence of not only dying but being consumed, and yet — ]
I’ve had my share of encounters with demons, devils, fiends, undead, and one particularly nefarious yugoloth. To be expected, for the once Chosen.
I’ve had my share of encounters with demons, devils, fiends, undead, and one particularly nefarious yugoloth. To be expected, for the once Chosen.
The Slayer?
Heavens no.
[ lmao. ]
I was the Chosen of the goddess of magic.
Heavens no.
[ lmao. ]
I was the Chosen of the goddess of magic.
[ Gale allows Armand’s fussing, smile evening into a bemused quirk. Pliant, instinctively, under the guidance of another — and irrepressibly fond to be in receipt of it. Evidence that despite what’s passed between them, they remain familiar. A closeness that can’t be shattered by the manor’s tricks or human hurts.
With a pointed look and cocked brow, he mimics Armand slowly, playful yet determined (to excel in all things, even something as insignificant as this). His first bite of the sashimi derails that train of thought, eyes alight with surprise at the taste. ]
Gosh! [ Delighted, evidently, when he leans forward for more. Not quite the right angle on the first try but perfect on the second. A wizard needs master their hands at an early age, after all. He tempers himself and his enthusiasm, if only to match Armand’s seriousness (and counterbalance the hesitance that characterises his candor, yet another way he mirrors Astarion).
A nod, first, acknowledging then sentiment. He holds his hand aloft, awaiting his thought to form before he carries on with the meal. At last: ]
I do wonder if that makes us any more capable. [ A tap of the chopsticks against his plate. ] Becoming accustomed to a particular ache, that is.
[ Physical or mental. Most people would find it a dolorous topic, but he recognises his melancholia in Armand’s eyes. A lifetime of denial, of waiting and wanting, for love and approval — it did not inure him to the absence of it. If anything, it made him desire it with greater desperation. ]
Does a familiar pain hurt any less for being known? [ Pensive, brow wrinkling, words spoken aloud as they occur to him. A riddle to be solved in real time. ] I’ve only had my — condition for a year now, yet it oft feels as if it were that first day, that terrible hour, in which I succumbed to it.
[ Each pang tearing him anew. Armand thinks not in years but decades, however. Centuries. If anyone could argue in favour of distance, of forgetting, it would be him. ]
With a pointed look and cocked brow, he mimics Armand slowly, playful yet determined (to excel in all things, even something as insignificant as this). His first bite of the sashimi derails that train of thought, eyes alight with surprise at the taste. ]
Gosh! [ Delighted, evidently, when he leans forward for more. Not quite the right angle on the first try but perfect on the second. A wizard needs master their hands at an early age, after all. He tempers himself and his enthusiasm, if only to match Armand’s seriousness (and counterbalance the hesitance that characterises his candor, yet another way he mirrors Astarion).
A nod, first, acknowledging then sentiment. He holds his hand aloft, awaiting his thought to form before he carries on with the meal. At last: ]
I do wonder if that makes us any more capable. [ A tap of the chopsticks against his plate. ] Becoming accustomed to a particular ache, that is.
[ Physical or mental. Most people would find it a dolorous topic, but he recognises his melancholia in Armand’s eyes. A lifetime of denial, of waiting and wanting, for love and approval — it did not inure him to the absence of it. If anything, it made him desire it with greater desperation. ]
Does a familiar pain hurt any less for being known? [ Pensive, brow wrinkling, words spoken aloud as they occur to him. A riddle to be solved in real time. ] I’ve only had my — condition for a year now, yet it oft feels as if it were that first day, that terrible hour, in which I succumbed to it.
[ Each pang tearing him anew. Armand thinks not in years but decades, however. Centuries. If anyone could argue in favour of distance, of forgetting, it would be him. ]
Some offence taken.
You’ll find the general populace here isn’t particularly concerned about vampires. We oft have greater problems than a few individuals with unusual dietary requirements.
You’ll find the general populace here isn’t particularly concerned about vampires. We oft have greater problems than a few individuals with unusual dietary requirements.
[ with sincere enthusiasm, ]
Not at all! It’s because I hail from the great city of Waterdeep, the crown jewel of the Sword Coast.
Not at all! It’s because I hail from the great city of Waterdeep, the crown jewel of the Sword Coast.
[ Gale's musings are met with a quiet gaze, Armand watching him with a mixture of fondness and genuine fascination for a man so enthused about life despite its challenges. He strokes the side of his glass with absent restlessness, light glinting off the pair of rings he wears -- one crowned with a bicolor sapphire, one shaped like thorns -- following the path of the chopsticks back and forth as Gale gestures before meeting his eyes once more. ]
The curse of the vampire requires that we remain the same as we were when we were turned and broken from our mortal life. Frozen in time for eternity. Made perfect, but caught in time, like a fly in a ball of amber.
[ He frowns faintly, looking down at his hands curved around his drink. ]
If we felt pain or fear, it becomes part of us. We are riddled with the trauma of our birth into death. I was dying of a poison in my blood when I was turned, so part of me will always be poisoned. Part of me will always be that boy shivering in his bed. Just as part of you will always be a.. [ He looks at Gale, searching for a better word than failure. ] servant of your cruel goddess.
Yet, it sustains you. Your condition. As I am sustained by the Dark Gift.
The curse of the vampire requires that we remain the same as we were when we were turned and broken from our mortal life. Frozen in time for eternity. Made perfect, but caught in time, like a fly in a ball of amber.
[ He frowns faintly, looking down at his hands curved around his drink. ]
If we felt pain or fear, it becomes part of us. We are riddled with the trauma of our birth into death. I was dying of a poison in my blood when I was turned, so part of me will always be poisoned. Part of me will always be that boy shivering in his bed. Just as part of you will always be a.. [ He looks at Gale, searching for a better word than failure. ] servant of your cruel goddess.
Yet, it sustains you. Your condition. As I am sustained by the Dark Gift.
[ Gale lifts his gaze, keenly attuned to Armand’s expression, his barely there tells. Younger than him in looks, he realises, despite the age of his soul. He can’t help but frown, mouth twinging in sympathy for the boy Armand was — is. Poison in the blood, yet another strange thing they have in common.
There’s something exceptional about Armand, in particular, thinking his goddess cruel — having known her through Gale’s memories and perceptions, which remain largely adoring. What then does he see that Gale fails to, even now, her forgiveness within his grasp? Or your freedom. ]
[ evenly, ] Perhaps.
[ Perhaps he will always be a servant, perhaps not. A third path stretches before him, after all. A crown reforged by his skilled hands that would make him a god in his own right. Worthy, after a lifetime of inadequacy. Undying and all-powerful, overcoming the blight eroding his very person.
He wonders if Armand is privy to those musings, peering his whirring mind. He hasn’t shared that possibility with anyone yet, even Astarion. ]
—Why do you call it the Dark Gift?
There’s something exceptional about Armand, in particular, thinking his goddess cruel — having known her through Gale’s memories and perceptions, which remain largely adoring. What then does he see that Gale fails to, even now, her forgiveness within his grasp? Or your freedom. ]
[ evenly, ] Perhaps.
[ Perhaps he will always be a servant, perhaps not. A third path stretches before him, after all. A crown reforged by his skilled hands that would make him a god in his own right. Worthy, after a lifetime of inadequacy. Undying and all-powerful, overcoming the blight eroding his very person.
He wonders if Armand is privy to those musings, peering his whirring mind. He hasn’t shared that possibility with anyone yet, even Astarion. ]
—Why do you call it the Dark Gift?
[ Servant, to save Gale's pride -- to Armand it seems no less than slavery, the chains no less heavy for being slender purple lines. He knows how it feels to be promised such gifts; the men who used him would do the same, when they wanted him. Those men would pile gold and jewels at his feet, dress him in furs and silks, press delicacies to his lips. They would praise his beauty and promise to free him, to bring him home with them on their ships. But afterward, they would leave. And no amount of cold coin would pay for what they took from him.
He sees the edges of it in Gale's mind, bright and hopeful for his scraps of reward. Aching in sympathy, seeing nothing but pain, Armand looks away. ]
So it was named to me by my maker. [ He fiddles with the chopsticks beside his setting, rolling them back and forth with a fingertip. ] So it was named to him, thousands of years before we met. A gift, too freely given. But a curse. With it comes the other gifts -- fire, flight, the ability to see into mortal minds and control others. Payment for enslavement to the darkness.
He sees the edges of it in Gale's mind, bright and hopeful for his scraps of reward. Aching in sympathy, seeing nothing but pain, Armand looks away. ]
So it was named to me by my maker. [ He fiddles with the chopsticks beside his setting, rolling them back and forth with a fingertip. ] So it was named to him, thousands of years before we met. A gift, too freely given. But a curse. With it comes the other gifts -- fire, flight, the ability to see into mortal minds and control others. Payment for enslavement to the darkness.
[ Gale watches Armand turn from him, his profile as sharp as his teeth. For all that Armand talks, there’s much he doesn’t reveal. So like Astarion in that way, too.
The similarities aren’t lost on him, at least between those granted the Dark Gift and those Chosen. For the latter are exalted above all, even forbidden magics at their fingertips, but they must serve their gods and goddesses for eternity to retain their power, attuned to their morals and missions. Everything has a cost. How much are you willing to pay? is the real question. For greatness, immortality, immeasurable power.
His expression shifts, pensive. ]
You’re not enslaved to the dark, though — or is that the work of this place and its mercurial magics?
The similarities aren’t lost on him, at least between those granted the Dark Gift and those Chosen. For the latter are exalted above all, even forbidden magics at their fingertips, but they must serve their gods and goddesses for eternity to retain their power, attuned to their morals and missions. Everything has a cost. How much are you willing to pay? is the real question. For greatness, immortality, immeasurable power.
His expression shifts, pensive. ]
You’re not enslaved to the dark, though — or is that the work of this place and its mercurial magics?
Edited 2025-03-18 14:25 (UTC)
Enslaved to the dark?
[ He lifts his gaze to look back at Gale, a little vulnerable with it, as if he's finding it difficult to stare into those direct and gently enquiring eyes for too long. A green that looks almost gold in the right light. Daniel had green eyes, before he was turned.
A bright young reporter with a point of view.
Armand purses his lips and looks away again, tapping his fingernail on the tabletop. ]
No, not truly. A turn of phrase. Darkness of mind, not in reality. I have been able to walk in the sun for almost a century now. A benefit of my age. As we collect the years, we become more powerful. But also more remote from humanity. When one lives for too long, one grows too easily bored of the petty troubles of mortal life. Love, loss. Plague and war and endless strife, over and over, always the same. My maker believed that it was better to live among mortals, to share their lives. He was killed for that belief. For daring to think himself above the Great Laws.
[ He takes a breath, makes a bit of an effort to draw himself back to the point. ]
But I digress into ancient and no doubt tedious drama. To answer your question: I am not required to live only at night, or to hide in the shadows and the crevices like a rat. I only need to feed once or twice a month, as I choose. I no longer need to sleep. [ He waves a hand. ] Such is the gift.
[ He lifts his gaze to look back at Gale, a little vulnerable with it, as if he's finding it difficult to stare into those direct and gently enquiring eyes for too long. A green that looks almost gold in the right light. Daniel had green eyes, before he was turned.
A bright young reporter with a point of view.
Armand purses his lips and looks away again, tapping his fingernail on the tabletop. ]
No, not truly. A turn of phrase. Darkness of mind, not in reality. I have been able to walk in the sun for almost a century now. A benefit of my age. As we collect the years, we become more powerful. But also more remote from humanity. When one lives for too long, one grows too easily bored of the petty troubles of mortal life. Love, loss. Plague and war and endless strife, over and over, always the same. My maker believed that it was better to live among mortals, to share their lives. He was killed for that belief. For daring to think himself above the Great Laws.
[ He takes a breath, makes a bit of an effort to draw himself back to the point. ]
But I digress into ancient and no doubt tedious drama. To answer your question: I am not required to live only at night, or to hide in the shadows and the crevices like a rat. I only need to feed once or twice a month, as I choose. I no longer need to sleep. [ He waves a hand. ] Such is the gift.
Edited 2025-03-18 17:19 (UTC)
[ Not a reporter, no, but a scholar and therefore beholden to the same instinct toward enquiry. A curiosity so dangerous it once damned it — perhaps it even helped drown him, mere days ago. Even now, he thinks to push. Even as indulges in the meal Armand has so graciously chosen for him, his thoughts snag on darkness of the mind, wanting to unspool it like so much thread. Then on the Great Laws (that Armand wrote and rewrote in the cellar, as much a devotee of that dogma as Gale was of Mystra).
Another thought: The gods do not live among mortals, as vampires must, lingering instead in the outer planes. To consort with a goddess is to be invited there, if only briefly. Perhaps that’s why they’re more remote — when the likes of Astarion and Armand and Louis seem awfully human, in the end. All the moreso, really, for their efforts to deny it. ]
Tedious. [ Armand hinted at that before, surprised by Gale’s sincere interest in his person. Simply, then: ] I think the word ill-fitting, in all matters concerning you.
[ A beat. He flushes faintly. ]
Though you may find that obvious, in light of my ceaseless questioning. [ His mouth quirks, sheepish. ] Apologies — it’s you who invited me here, and I’ve led us down quite the dour conversational path.
Another thought: The gods do not live among mortals, as vampires must, lingering instead in the outer planes. To consort with a goddess is to be invited there, if only briefly. Perhaps that’s why they’re more remote — when the likes of Astarion and Armand and Louis seem awfully human, in the end. All the moreso, really, for their efforts to deny it. ]
Tedious. [ Armand hinted at that before, surprised by Gale’s sincere interest in his person. Simply, then: ] I think the word ill-fitting, in all matters concerning you.
[ A beat. He flushes faintly. ]
Though you may find that obvious, in light of my ceaseless questioning. [ His mouth quirks, sheepish. ] Apologies — it’s you who invited me here, and I’ve led us down quite the dour conversational path.
[ The warmth of blood beneath Gale's skin would be a goad to a lesser vampire. For Armand, it's enough to draw out a gentle smile, pleased by the compliment, and a thoughtful glance upwards beneath his eyelashes, coquettish and almost playful. He dances a fingertip around the rim of his glass. Gale's open curiosity conflicts with old instincts designed to help him evade mortal attention, prompting him to deflect, but he does enjoy it, being fascinating. Being anything but boring. ]
No need to apologise. My kind are unfortunately prone to lingering in melodrama. When eternity stretches ahead and behind, one needs to find reasons to remain interested in the world. Becoming quite aggravatingly self-obsessed is a side effect. And I'm afraid that it only gets worse with age.
[ A wry smile. ]
Please. Ask your questions. Or we can talk about something else. [ He tilts his head slightly, adding an almost mischievous edge to his smile. ] The unexpected pleasures of a new relationship, perhaps.
No need to apologise. My kind are unfortunately prone to lingering in melodrama. When eternity stretches ahead and behind, one needs to find reasons to remain interested in the world. Becoming quite aggravatingly self-obsessed is a side effect. And I'm afraid that it only gets worse with age.
[ A wry smile. ]
Please. Ask your questions. Or we can talk about something else. [ He tilts his head slightly, adding an almost mischievous edge to his smile. ] The unexpected pleasures of a new relationship, perhaps.
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