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[illithidnapped]

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[illithidnapped]

On the contrary: robbing a dangerous goddess known for exercising her venomously lethal wrath? That makes it a great deal more romantic.


Ah but then again, if we wait too long, you might change back.

[doggish]

[. . . hm.]

how realistic are gods' wrath here

is it more of a chantry-based, "the Maker will damn you after you die" which means that it's all human-made propaganda that will not have any real-world effects, or will this actually curse us?

[illithidnapped]

Don't be such a worrier. What harm is a little old curse or two in the grand scheme of things?

We're world traversing renegades - there's nothing we can't handle.

1/2

[doggish]

just because we can handle it does not mean i wish to

a quiet life sounds relaxing after our lives, and i do not wish to have to try and kill a god for a second time just to keep you safe when we can just steal from a noble

[doggish]

then again, it might disrupt the sea trade, which would mean less fish and more steakhouses in the city. so perhaps you're right.

(it reeks here even as a dog).

[illithidnapped]

That's the ticket, love. Courageous as ever and awash in perfect taste.

Besides, I'd imagine a fickle goddess who favors plunderers and knaves would actually enjoy a pair of thieves daring to risk it all across her shores.

[doggish]

it does suit, i will admit. but if your curls start to lose their luster and it starts raining saltwater, we're getting a different set of rings


you never told me being an animal changes your perceptions

no wonder the pups go wild whenever the barkeep wears aftershave, everything smells so MUCH

[illithidnapped]

Hah! A precious catulus in his truest form at last.

Trust me darling, it's all fun and games until you start smelling the worst this city has to offer. Even less so when your instincts find it fascinating. But perhaps the treat bin taught you that already.

Tell me something little hound. What sort of beast are you? Fluffy? Small? Primped and pressed with a precious curly tail and floppy ears?

[doggish]

you're teasing a great deal for an elf currently both fluffy and sausage-shaped. but now you owe me a story. what did your instincts lead you? it cannot be much better than the treat bin (and I do not regret that for a moment).



but i am medium-sized, with predominantly black fur with white accents. and my ears are floppy, so get your teasing out now. i'm simply grateful i don't look like the pups.

[illithidnapped]

[Maybe (yes) he just wanted to goad you into giving away a description before you got here. ;>

It sounds adorable.]

No interest in carrying on the familial resemblance, oh grand illustrious sire?

[doggish]

i might be more invested in claiming them if they hadn't spent the afternoon hissing and spitting at a mirror over and over. have you ever tried to see a kitten bark? it's somehow both very loud and particularly pathetic.

but don't let that stop you. you can turn into a wolf; surely a Mabari-like dog cannot be that difficult.

[illithidnapped]

I expect it's a great deal less aggravating than the usual shrill yips, but I look forward to being proven wrong.

Anyway you would think— and yet somehow vampiric ability still limits itself. I've tried for crows, cats, dazzlingly breathtaking cervids, and still

nothing.

A wolf or a bat is all that rests within my reach.

Well. All right. Due confession: I haven't yet attempted shifting into a hollyphant but I don't care if the power somehow ironically sits open in laid wait: I'd rather choke than be one.

1/2

[doggish]

i would divorce you without a second thought

[doggish]

fortunately, you have your head on correctly. you flatter any form you change into, but a hollyphant is an abomination, one not even your good looks could course correct

a pity about the cat, though. it would suit you. thought i do enjoy you as a bat; you're particularly adorable when you're tired and try to burrow into my chest.

(and it's aggravating in a different way. the same way salt and sweet are both flavors but distinct; it's less about shrillness and more about endless repetition).

1/2

[illithidnapped]

And yet you'd come running right back once I was restored. Don't you dare try to outfox a

erm

flying fox.

2/2

[illithidnapped]

Although puppish talk aside, you're making me long for that magic to actually wear. The temptation of huddling in close under your blouse, awash in the steady beat beat beating of your heart.

Then again, I bet your fur makes for a cozy den indeed.

[doggish]

we can tonight. i would like that, in fact. you speak sweetly when you're drowsy and unguarded, and i like getting to read to you that way. besides: i cannot imagine this magic will last for much longer.

but you can find out soon enough if my doggish [hey, that's the name of his journal!] form is a suitable substitute. i  . . . suspect i am nearing where you lay.

[Maybe. Possibly. Baldur's Gate is large and sprawling and confusing even as an elf, never mind as a dog. It's hard to read posted signs when your eyesight is suddenly monochrome, and anyway, scent is easier to navigate by; it's just a matter of associating one with the other . . .

Which is why Leto is currently furiously investigating a pile of offal outside a butcher a few blocks away from one of the nearby piers, his nose telling him only that it smells delectable— and that it's near seawater. That must mean he's very close. Almost certainly it does. Add to the fact a small mammal was recently nearby . . . yes, he must be close.

(It's his first time as a dog, no one can blame his tracking skills).]

where ARE you?

[illithidnapped]

[They wrote the thing!!]

Can you see the temple yet?

[It's part of this, he swears.]

[doggish]

i am, at best, three feet tall right now

everything looks the same from down here

but i . . .

[Oh, there is a long, long pause.]

yes. maybe. i see a temple, i think. it smells of the sea.

[illithidnapped]

Ah! Well spotted my little bloodhound. Now, see the cliffs propping up the whole of Umberlee's Baldurian domain?

I'm under them.

[doggish]

[It still takes far longer than it should, he ends up padding in the wrong direction for a time— but sooner or later, a dog trots up towards the temple. He's a medium-sized thing, slender but strong, his fur black with the occasional white markings. There's a rather jaunty scarf tied haphazardly to his neck, the fabric just a little too large to really suit him, and maybe that's why he attracts the odd startled exclamation or delighted laugh.]


where under there?

[He sticks close to the wall outside the temple, trying to be as subtle as he can while still furiously sniffing the air. It's so briney, not to mention all the people and animals and everything that clammers at him for olfactory attention.]

i don't see you.

[illithidnapped]

[Down comes the claw bat from on high beneath the temple cliffs, shaken loose out of the shadow of a shoreline cavern's mouth to flutter towards Leto in a blur of exceptionally fluffy white fur (and sporting the usual pair of wide garnet eyes), landing on his back at first, and then—

Oh.

Eugh. No. Wet. That's a wet dog, thanks to shoreline humidity.

—revised plan: he darts back over to a nearby rock to shake off and chitter his mild displeasure.]

Tell me that's you in there. [Comes with a pair of winged swipes over his foxlike nose, grooming.]

[doggish]

[The first thing that happens, the very first thing, is that his tail starts wagging. From the moment those tiny claws land atop him he's already wagging, slow to start but building with intensity each moment that passes— until by the time Astarion rests on that rock, his whole back half is shaking with effort, his excitement such that he has to tap from one paw to the other in momentary displacement. Oh, it's you, his heart sings, and he does not know why he's so overjoyed, save that this puppish body has instincts of its own. It's you, it's you, I missed you so, his green eyes bright and eager as he stares at his fussy mate.

The second thing that happens— and that lends credence to the theory that there is, in fact, a set of bodily instincts he cannot ignore— is that Leto feels that dampness settling in his fur. Wet dog indeed, and there's only one thing to do when you're wet, his instincts tell him—

So the second thing Leto does is give himself one brisk shake, ocean droplets spraying everywhere as he grumbles in satisfaction. Then he looks back at his mate, panting gently as he views him.]

Yes, it's me.

[And isn't he pleased with himself? With an audible grin Leto trots forward, absolutely unashamed about how he snuffles and noses at his mate— hello, hello, memorizing his scent and relishing the feel of familiar chilled fluff against his snout, hello you, hello, equal parts adoring and mercilessly teasing.]

[illithidnapped]

[He's a precious thing. All teeth and a lolling tongue, wriggling hindquarters leading the charge after forepaws plod eagerly back and forth— alertness bathed in recognition like a banner, unmistakable at its height— and it only grows once close. Snuffling and snorting and happy, hot puffs of breath filling the whole of Astarion's vision. 

His damp, fussy, squinted vision. Assailed by a snout the size of his head, hissing on matching reflex— albeit just the mouthy, affectionate protests all pack creatures have, regardless of species: a cub will squall at its mother, a kitten will wail, bats—
Well, bats have their own way.]

Yes yes hello— that's— [With slight effort, his wing-claws push up against the wet tip of leto's nose, signaling that his transformed mate's had enough of a smell. Honestly he'd normally be shrieking by now if either of the pups were the ones butting eagerly into his space, but as things are, he's tugging and reaching with his little talons trying to get a better look at him with half-blind vision. 

His book still laid out flat on the nearby rocky shelf he'd been using as a perch beforehand, though it needn't have been so fastidiously obscured: there's no one else beneath the temple anyway. Only the lapping of the risen tide and whatever noises they both make.]

Selûne's tits, it truly is you, isn't it? What an adorable thing you are— the spitting image of your id. 

....And the twins'.

[doggish]

[Oh, those precious little chirps. Those protesting little squeaks, not wholly new but all the more endearing with a new set of ears. Leto settles back on his hindquarters, his tail still wagging furiously and excitement thrumming through restrained muscles. Look at how good he's being. Look at how smart he is. Isn't he such a good boy? Such a good boy, if anyone wants to notice and/or comment on it.

Though some of that excitement dissipates as Astarion speaks; with a little bark of laughter Leto submits himself to that fussy attention.]

There is an unfortunate coloring resemblance, I will admit. And you are one to talk about adorable, squeaking as you are. You smell even better to this nose, do you know that? You smell good ordinarily, [he adds swiftly, just to cut off any protesting squawks.] But you're particularly distinct in this form.

[Drawing back a little further, he tips his head back, showing off the scarf clumsily (but securely) tied around his neck.]

Do you approve of your accommodations? I will admit, it was no easy task to tie this with a third hand, never mind check to ensure it was thick enough that no sunlight could penetrate.