darling, you're safe with me

// day breaks sorrow //

Cleaned up and with a detour to the Greatwood on the way home, the butcher’s back in his usual well tailored attire. This time, sporting a dark blood red waistcoat with ivory threading to craft a pinstripe appearance, allowing the butcher to appear even taller, is paired with a long black silk shirt beneath it, sleeves rolled up neatly and with silver chains adorning the pocket of the waistcoat to be met with the little journal kept in his pocket. He’s horribly overdressed for this endeavor, though Astaroth seems to care very little - especially as he’s too busy lagging a touch behind to watch his lover take the lead through this relatively skinny path.

“Well, it is not the Hanging Tree, but it is charming, wouldn’t you agree?” He asks, reaching forward as he steps closer to the Maverick, his hand warm as it meets Danta’s lower back when the path opens up again. At least, mostly opens up. Because he’s still forced to step over a rather large root sticking out of the ground.

He pays it little mind as he spots the lanterns that adorn the tree branches, wondering whom they belonged to - while also silently stricken with an intriguing thought of whether or not any of those lives he’d claimed more recently had lanterns out in the world for them.

Astaroth

// and i still feel the edge of this cold knife //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

A natural study in opposites, as Asta lurks behind, overdressed and charming, Danta carves the path ahead with his half-buttoned shirt hanging off one shoulder, the soft pastel blue billowing in the warm breeze. A flower blossom from one of the trees has gotten caught in a tangle of his blond hair, making him seem like some ethereal fae prince picking his way through the foliage. Only the crystalline sheen of his horns and the animated flick of his tail show his true nature, and he ducks beneath a bough to step onto a sudden and well-worn path, as if the Greatwood has suddenly picked it out for them.

"It does have a certain something," he agrees as his steps slow and he straightens up properly, glancing towards Asta as he feels the other man's warm palm press to the small of his back. Following his gaze up towards the lanterns, the sight of them has a smile curling at Danta's lips. "Do you suppose Ludo or the will-o-wisps come along and light them up at night?" he asks, bouncing his eyebrows in the butcher's direction. "Or do they have better things to do?"

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

// day breaks sorrow //

He is very prince-like as he drifts through the warm trees. And Asta is soaking it in shamelessly from behind him, like the ever watchful bodyguard he is. His own hair free of any leaves or flowers that may have tried to snag into them, it’s all prim and proper compared to the beautiful chaos that Danta embodies. From the rainbow sheen of his horns cascading against liquid gold, to the pop of color snagged in his hair that the butcher only notices once he’s side by side with him, from the vibrant blues that seem somehow brighter than before in the green reflected hue of the sun against the canopy above.

Asta’s feet find steady ground soon enough, though, and his tail flits contently with the result as he straightens up back to his perfect posture, the warm hand at his lover’s back sweeps gently against bare skin before finding its place against his hip. “Oh, it would not surprise me.” The accented chuckle that leaves him is a gentle one, thoughtful, contemplative. “Perhaps it is where the will-o-wisps sleep?” Angling his head down toward Danta with a playful bounce of his brow, his gaze is honey bright, a certain golden fiery hue within them that only appeared when directly cast upon by the sun. “Less work but still efficient?”

"How many lanterns do you think are out there that we had a hand in?" He muses the previous thought aloud, angling his head as he continues to look at him with warmth and affection rather than the path they take.

Astaroth

// and i still feel the edge of this cold knife //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

"Where they sleep?" Danta's smile cocks into something wickedly amused as he tips his head back once more to look at the lanterns scattered overhead. "Like little houses. I bet they use the lantern lights as campfires," he says, allowing himself a moment of whimsy before he's letting himself be ferried forward again, stepping closer to lean companionably against Asta's side.

Humming a distracted sound at first in response to the other man's question, Danta glances from the canopy above and back to Asta, caught momentarily by the blaze of burnished gold in his eyes as they catch the light of the sun. "That we had a hand in?" he echoes, before seeming to realise what he means. "Ah, for me? Scarce few, I imagine. I have been on my best behaviour for some time now. You, though. Might be a decent number, depending on how good family memories are." He grins.

"Did they celebrate in Halo, back when you were in Whitebrim? I imagine you were responsible for quite a few lanterns back then too."

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

That is not a normal tree and you well know it. Whether you’re just passing by or if you’re here to try and gather some of her sap, all I can tell you is that you’re going to absolutely have a bad time if you try and fuck with this tree.

---

You’ve encountered a Wicker Woman. This counts as a rare creature encounter for the purposes of levelling, but does not count as a Random Event for levelling or MP. There will be no further admin/re intervention. If you choose to follow this creature, you do so at your own risk, however, just having it in this thread is enough to satisfy your levelling requirements. You may not kill your rare creature without admin permission.

Wicker Woman (rare/mythical): Whilst the name suggests a person, this is actually a species of tree. The Wicker Woman has gnarled and twisted branches which will fold gently around anything that brushes past it. Whilst it causes no harm, it is incredibly difficult to escape its embrace, and travellers have starved to death in the past after becoming snared by it. The sap of the Wicker Woman is rumoured to be a potent hallucinogenic.

// day breaks sorrow //

“Precisely, darling.” Asta grins, imagining it alongside his lover as he sinks into his side. His arm slips around a bit more comfortably, fingertips dipping into Danta’s waistband, head still angled toward him as he muses his question. His head remains tilted as they walk, nodding only once to the echo he hears, before he snorts another soft laugh. “Mm, yes, I suppose you would have to be on your best behavior.” A dramatic drawl, angling his head away momentarily to sigh equally as dramatic.

The darkness still lingers within Danta, though, as the butcher is well aware. And at the very least, he’s pleased with the fact they have the rage room in case he did ever let it get too bottled up. “Far less these days than there once were.” And maybe it’s the fact the butcher’s family dynamic had been fucked up from the get-go, but he highly doubts anyone in Halo is still holding onto lanterns of their ancestors.

Tilting his attention back toward Danta with the question, his smile is a touch softer as he contemplates. “My Whitebrim did not. We did not really pray to anyone but the Eirachi for easier Deepfrosts.” That had been the extent of his godly following, until of course, Dygra had saved him and he’d become truly, wholly, completely devoted. “The larger cities did, however. When I had my sprees after becoming Ancient, there were lanterns I could often attribute to those I had encountered.” Something about the design would match those that fell at his hand, and perhaps it was arrogance that made him assume it was correlated, if it wasn’t true.

Ah, but that’s when the fun ends, because the butcher’s snapping up immediately once the words leave him, peering past Danta’s golden crown to spot the movement. A low snarl passes from his lips, shifting their positioning so that the butcher’s closest toward the wicker woman if she decides to reach out. “Shall we continue where we can be alone?”

Astaroth

// and i still feel the edge of this cold knife //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

"I find that people frown upon it when, as a leader, you kill and feast upon your own citizens," Danta offers by way of further explanation, his nose wrinkling as he joins in Asta's dramatics. Leaning into his comfortable warmth and feeling a thrill ignite along the base of his spine as the other man's fingers slip beneath his waistband, Asta is at risk of lighting a fuse he might struggle to put out, and only talk of lanterns and Whitebrim keeps the Maverick in check - for now.

"Ah, the Eirachi? One of the seasonal deities, right? We would offer something to Tanau on occasion, for no other reason than because it was an excuse to drink and fuck, I think. Celebrations, festivals and all that." He grins. "Here, actually, I think they worship a big tree. The Mathair?"

Speaking of trees, though, it's unfortunate that they find themselves faced with one from their collective nightmares. Forgetting all about lantern-houses and deities and old traditions, Danta stiffens beneath Asta's arm as he also catches the movement of branches that should not move, his teeth baring automatically. "I could not agree more," he whispers, fire already seething at his heels, threatening to burst into a blaze without warning.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

// day breaks sorrow //

“A shame.” He laments, very much knowing what he’s doing when it comes to where his hand is currently on his lover, though caring little for whether or not it does spark something. He’s sure he can finish it, if it came down to it. So he prolongs it out as he hears Danta’s answer over the seasonal deity, nodding softly. “Yes. I do recall those offerings to Tanau. I only participated once.” Because it certainly wasn’t his scene before.

As Danta was well aware.

Thoughts of the Mathair die on the tip of his tongue, however, feeling Danta stiffen and feeling his hold on his haunt begin to drop just enough that the shadow of himself against he ground starts to vibrate in little smokey streaks, stretching out nice and long before he sucks it back in to hear Danta’s voice. The flare of his nostrils with the huff left behind as he glares daggers into the tree, the butcher’s arm tightens around his lover’s waist, hurrying them along. “Let us meet the Mathair, mm?” Not literally, he hopes, but the tree itself sounds intriguing provided it was nothing like the wicker woman currently eyeing them down.

- FIN

Astaroth

// and i still feel the edge of this cold knife //