THERE IS ONLY FORWARD, NO OTHER WAY— cw: dubcon, a/b/o tropes, animalistic fucking, violence
[ The Mesial bids him protect her grove, protect the hunt, and Halsin can't think of any reason not to obey. He sees aspects of Silvanus in her, the wisdom of the Oak Father joined with his wild nature. Her blessing has been a balm in the uncertain days since his resurrection, when he'd awoken on the grass covered in gravedirt, with greasy corruption blackening his numbed fingertips. Anger had burned in him for a week, making his magic unpredictable, brambles and dark thorn whips dragging out from his hands. Then it had faded, leaving behind a stain like a bruise somewhere in his soul.
Out by the edge of the forest, he makes an effort to live in the moment, enjoying the sun on his face and the noise of the hunt assembling, the feeling of Silvanus' gift in his body once more. On his head, he wears the skull and immense antlers of an ancient deer; the points are almost as long as his fingers, but the crown is surprisingly light for its size. He takes his responsibility over the hunt seriously, helping to hand out riding crops and tying on masks, offering words and prayers of guidance for traversing the forest. By his side, Jonty has been a accommodating, if visibly tired, host; Halsin wonders if he's trying harder to make up for the disarray of his house. He can't blame the man for the acts of his undead ancestors, as much as part of him wants to. The corruption in his magic itches and burns for revenge; Halsin tries to ignore it as the hunt gets underway.
A — At first, the hunt is easy and familiar. Halsin strips off his shirt and shoes, but keeps the antlers, somehow managing to make his way through the trees and undergrowth without the tines getting snagged. He's played games like this back in Faerûn, chasing his druid siblings through the deep woods to train and learn the land, in fun and in passion. Sometimes they'd hunted each other in their animal forms, learning how to shift mid-stride. For the moment, he makes an effort to remain an elf, laughing and trading insults with other hunters when he encounters them, shouting encouragement as he spots prey darting through the trees. ]
You'll need to run faster than that, little one!
[ If he catches anyone, it'll be more play than anything, scooping up his quarry to carry them away or slinging them over his shoulder until he finds a bed of soft moss or a smooth-sided tree to collapse against, turning banter into hungry kisses -- the Mesial demands worship, after all.
B — It doesn't take long for things to change, in more ways than one. Halsin feels the energy of the hunt filling him, heating his blood. Someone trips, lands in the leaf litter, and he's on them before he can stop himself, taking his victory with bruising touches. His desire to catch his prey becomes deeper and sharper; he feels himself sliding into a body more adapted to the hunt and, vicious with untapped rage, welcomes it, bright gold light and shadow flowing around him as he crashes through the undergrowth, single-minded in his need to chase and pin and take.
Blessed by the Mesial, he remains crowned with antlers, but his form changes back and forth, reflecting the desires of his prey. For some, he's a lumbering bear; for others, he's a lean and hungry wolf racing through the trees, or a stalking jungle cat. As the sun slides down the sky and the woods darken around them, he rises as something halfway between man and beast, clawed and fanged and achingly hard, relentless and huge, the spirit of the hunt itself. He'll show little mercy when he captures his prey -- but perhaps that's what's needed. ]
TOMORROW'S YOUR HOPE AT THE END OF THE DAY— cw: ritual sex
[ The cleansing ritual is a relief. Halsin is glad to embrace it after the blood and heat of the hunt, following gladly along with the servants who strip off the remainder of his clothing and paint his sweaty skin with powerful symbols. He lowers his head to let them remove the Mesial's antlers, setting them aside to reclaim his body for himself.
A — As a Lord, he's allowed to claim his own consorts for the ritual. He does so gladly, a little restorative magic letting him keep up with as many as want to share the magic with him. First, he seeks out those he remembers encountering in the forest, seeking forgiveness and offering healing for any hurts they might have gotten at his hands. His touches are gentle and reverent; he offers prayers to the Oak Father and to the Mesial in panting breaths over bare skin, his eyes and fingertips faintly as the life energy throbs through the land. As the cleansing continues, he'll welcome anyone who seeks him, as willing to receive as he is to give when it comes to the gifts of his wild gods. This, too, is sacred.
B — Afterwards, Halsin needs a bath. He's very glad to be guided towards the lake, sliding into the cool waters with a sigh of pleasure, ducking under the surface to wash paint and sweat and other fluids from his body. After he's washes as best he can, he moves towards the shallows where he can watch the figures by the bonfire, as well as his fellow guests as they enjoy the lake and each other. The air on his wet skin should feel too cold to stand, but he feels strangely relaxed, content to sit in the moonlit water amid the floating flowers. ]
WILDCARD
[ OOC: Feel free to throw in wildcards off these or any of the other prompts! Halsin has met the Mesial and has agreed to be her hunter -- more details hereand here. In general, I'm happy to play with any degree of transformation/animal attributes, breeding kink and a/b/o tropes for the hunt. Find me on plurk laetificat or PM here for plotting and discussion! ]
Halsin | Baldur's Gate 3 | current player/character
Out by the edge of the forest, he makes an effort to live in the moment, enjoying the sun on his face and the noise of the hunt assembling, the feeling of Silvanus' gift in his body once more. On his head, he wears the skull and immense antlers of an ancient deer; the points are almost as long as his fingers, but the crown is surprisingly light for its size. He takes his responsibility over the hunt seriously, helping to hand out riding crops and tying on masks, offering words and prayers of guidance for traversing the forest. By his side, Jonty has been a accommodating, if visibly tired, host; Halsin wonders if he's trying harder to make up for the disarray of his house. He can't blame the man for the acts of his undead ancestors, as much as part of him wants to. The corruption in his magic itches and burns for revenge; Halsin tries to ignore it as the hunt gets underway.
A — At first, the hunt is easy and familiar. Halsin strips off his shirt and shoes, but keeps the antlers, somehow managing to make his way through the trees and undergrowth without the tines getting snagged. He's played games like this back in Faerûn, chasing his druid siblings through the deep woods to train and learn the land, in fun and in passion. Sometimes they'd hunted each other in their animal forms, learning how to shift mid-stride. For the moment, he makes an effort to remain an elf, laughing and trading insults with other hunters when he encounters them, shouting encouragement as he spots prey darting through the trees. ]
You'll need to run faster than that, little one!
[ If he catches anyone, it'll be more play than anything, scooping up his quarry to carry them away or slinging them over his shoulder until he finds a bed of soft moss or a smooth-sided tree to collapse against, turning banter into hungry kisses -- the Mesial demands worship, after all.
B — It doesn't take long for things to change, in more ways than one. Halsin feels the energy of the hunt filling him, heating his blood. Someone trips, lands in the leaf litter, and he's on them before he can stop himself, taking his victory with bruising touches. His desire to catch his prey becomes deeper and sharper; he feels himself sliding into a body more adapted to the hunt and, vicious with untapped rage, welcomes it, bright gold light and shadow flowing around him as he crashes through the undergrowth, single-minded in his need to chase and pin and take.
Blessed by the Mesial, he remains crowned with antlers, but his form changes back and forth, reflecting the desires of his prey. For some, he's a lumbering bear; for others, he's a lean and hungry wolf racing through the trees, or a stalking jungle cat. As the sun slides down the sky and the woods darken around them, he rises as something halfway between man and beast, clawed and fanged and achingly hard, relentless and huge, the spirit of the hunt itself. He'll show little mercy when he captures his prey -- but perhaps that's what's needed. ]
TOMORROW'S YOUR HOPE AT THE END OF THE DAY — cw: ritual sex
A — As a Lord, he's allowed to claim his own consorts for the ritual. He does so gladly, a little restorative magic letting him keep up with as many as want to share the magic with him. First, he seeks out those he remembers encountering in the forest, seeking forgiveness and offering healing for any hurts they might have gotten at his hands. His touches are gentle and reverent; he offers prayers to the Oak Father and to the Mesial in panting breaths over bare skin, his eyes and fingertips faintly as the life energy throbs through the land. As the cleansing continues, he'll welcome anyone who seeks him, as willing to receive as he is to give when it comes to the gifts of his wild gods. This, too, is sacred.
B — Afterwards, Halsin needs a bath. He's very glad to be guided towards the lake, sliding into the cool waters with a sigh of pleasure, ducking under the surface to wash paint and sweat and other fluids from his body. After he's washes as best he can, he moves towards the shallows where he can watch the figures by the bonfire, as well as his fellow guests as they enjoy the lake and each other. The air on his wet skin should feel too cold to stand, but he feels strangely relaxed, content to sit in the moonlit water amid the floating flowers. ]
WILDCARD