more-than-a-slayer

[more-than-a-slayer]

Erala's voice turned almost reverent as she paced, her tone tinged with the pride of someone who saw the art in chaos but understood the difference between beauty and recklessness.

"Yes... killing Isobel would bring such an exquisite tragedy, wouldn't it? The bloodshed, the chaos — it would be a masterpiece of carnage." She gestured slowly in a broad arch, as if already envisioning it. "But those very losses would bleed us just as much as our enemy. Our forces would suffer a critical blow, a deficit we can't afford. A beautiful tragedy, yes, but also a brutal tactical blunder."

"The Harpers were a contingent that could not be ignored in the siege of Moonrise." She leaned in, "It's no different than Sarevok's mad urge to raze Candlekeep to the ground hundreds of years ago. A theater of destruction — devastating, yes, but for what gain? To revel in the ruin, while his own strength crumbled with it?"

Her voice lowered, but her words carried a singular sharpness, resentment barely restrained under the preacher's tone. "No. The children of Bhaal failed to understand until now... when the tragedy becomes a burden, when the practical crosses into folly. And if they failed to understand this, it's because Bhaal failed us."

Erala’s voice then rang out, filled with a preacher’s fervor as she stepped forward. Her gaze was intense, as if daring her entire audience of one to avert their attention.

"Control," she declared, the word laced with an almost sacred weight. "Control is what sets us apart from the vermin that scurry in the shadows. They are slaves to hunger, to fear, to impulses they barely understand. But us? We should be masters — masters of our own lives, of the burdens we carry, of the weights we choose to bear. We won’t stumble through existence, dragged by whims or lusts." She paused, her eyes flashing with conviction.

"You have the understanding," she continued, the cadence of her voice building. "You have control. That is power."

Her hands clasped behind her back as she raised her chin.

"God he may be, but even greater gods have fallen for far lesser slips. And I must profoundly disagree with any notion that Bhaal’s ways are to be revered. Only a fool would sow such countless seeds of failure, until one finally achieves what he supposedly was trying to pass on to them since the beginning."

Her gaze held steady, burning with a defiant clarity, as if she were already picturing the cracks in Bhaal's foundation, cracks that, in her mind, would someday shatter his reign entirely.

Erala knew with certainty that Ammit was not another of the meek, not one of the helpless lambs she could steer with a few ignited words or flattering gestures. No, her will was like tempered steel. But even steel could be worn down, and Erala hoped that in time, even Ammit would see the cracks. She’d see how little reward Bhaal would spare her, how shallow his promises were. The Lord of Murder, for all his bloodlust and power, was just a frightened wraith clutching at the edges of godhood, more concerned with preserving his own flickering existence than with any lasting reign on this plane.

In Erala’s mind, Ammit would do what Bhaal never could: she would lead with power, carve out her own order from the chaos. Erala could build the foundation, sow a true empire of willing, zealous souls for Ammit. And the Anchev clan... they could either bend their frenzied urges into loyalty, helping to shepherd the herd, or they’d be crushed under the wheels of the new order. Either way, Erala would see that this world would bleed in lines etched by purpose.

"I will respect your authority on the matter," she said, voice unwavering, "but understand that my opinion remains unchanged." Her purple gaze held an almost feverish insight, that only the ones that truly believed in what they say couldhave. "Where Bhaal imprisons us through impulses, you would free us through discipline."

Erala knew what this could mean. What her words might get her. So she stood, arms clasped behind her, chin lifted — not in open defiance, but in a silent offering, a subtle tilt that bared her neck. If this was the moment when Ammit, the arbiter, would weigh her heart against the feather’s truth, Erala would accept it without flinching.

Erala’s eyes widened for a split second when the dragonborn’s massive, taloned hand clamped around her jaw. She tried to smile, her lips quirking awkwardly as Ammit’s claws forced her into a ridiculous pout. When she tried to tilt her head, she found it held firmly in place. And then, just as suddenly as Ammit had seized her, she released her. A slow, real smile spread across Erala’s face, her lips curling into something more genuine, something interested. "I won't lie," she said, her voice teasing but low, as if sharing a secret. "The thought occurred to me. More than once." She paused, briefly, taking one step closer to the dragonborn. "But I wasn’t talking about me." Her voice dropped into something almost reverent, like she was delivering a sermon to her flock. "I am — was — the preacher. The one who shepherds the herd, who prepares the cattle for slaughter." Erala lifted her hand and conjured a small flame that flickered to life in her palm. It twirled between her fingers with ease, a casual demonstration of control as she spoke, her eyes focused on the dancing light. "You see," she began, her words lingering in the air like a slow, deliberate poison, "It is only fair that whoever carries the greatest burden also wields the power to match it."Erala’s cadence slowed, her words measured, as though she was savoring the meaning behind each one. Her eyes darted to Ammit, a curious glint reflecting off the flame, before she continued."And until now… I thought that was me." She tilted her head slightly, studying Ammit with something bordering on fascination, "then I met you." The flame flickered between her fingers again, growing for a moment, brightening as her intensity grew. "You, Ammit," she hissed, stepping even closer, her words dripping with some sort of twisted admiration. "Judge. Jury. Executioner." Her hand shot out, fire crackling in her palm as if it might leap from her fingers. "You decide who gets to breathe, who gets snuffed out. It’s not just a butcher’s work — it’s precise. Methodical." Her voice shifted, eyes widening as though in awe. "Righteous." "But then there’s him, Bhaal," she spat the name like it burned her tongue. "Always demanding more carnage! Without sense, without reason, just… chaos." Her voice grew sharper, the fire dancing more wildly as her frustration bled into her words. "And we, his so-called children, are nothing but puppets to him. Strings tied to our every limb, yanked whichever way his madness demands. Even now, his whispers creep into my mind, demanding that I burn your flesh!" Erala’s gaze drifted back to the flame, her fingers quickly curling into a fist, extinguishing the flame. "It’s chaos for chaos’s sake. But you… you have purpose. You weigh the scales. You give meaning to the blood spilled." Erala straightened herself as her hands slipped behind her back, fingers clasped together. Her posture was once again one of serene control, as if the frustrated rant from moments before had never existed. Her lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "So, why shouldn’t it be you, Ammit?Why shouldn’t you be the one to take the reins?" Her voice softened, but the undertone of conviction remained. "After all, you're the one who already understands what it means to bear the responsibility. Now it's time to also wield the power." Her eyes lingered on Ammit for a moment, something both off-putting and mesmerizing in the way she spoke, as if she had truly convinced herself that this was the natural order of things.

Ammit's maw opened and closed briefly, lips smoothly concealing her sharp, serrated teeth, however, outside of a low huff, no words escaped her muzzle. White eyes looked upon the drow with a knowing glint as she said: "Preachers in all religions believe they hold a lot of power, just because they speak a lot. And maybe they do, given that they claim to represent the god, whose behalf they are speaking on. It is simply unfortunate that you are speaking on behalf of something, which works best if it has no voice."

The Dragonborn crossed her arms before her chest and cocked her head aside as Erala revealed how she viewed power. Her white eyes narrowed with little surprise as the drow revealed she had thought she carried the greatest burden. Again, preachers talked too much. They always did. However, then Erala brought up her. Ammit nodded towards the flame, a silent demand for the preacher to continue talking.

Her maw twitched into the beginnings of a growl as the priestess dared to slander her father's name. Placing her hand against Erala's palm, Ammit did not even flinch as some of the flames scorched her black scales. She revealed: "Father is aware of this problem. Why else do you think I exist the way I do? All the other Bhaalspawn are slobbering, gnashing, wheezing hounds, fighting over scraps. You all end up with surplus killings because you are like a wolf in a henhouse. You do not know when to stop. You kill indiscriminately and you cannot bring yourself to stop until everything around you stops breathing."

Letting go of the drow's hand, the older Bhaalspawn stepped back. Ammit placed her hands beside her temple and wiggled her fingers to underscore her next point: "Whenever you hear Bhaal's voice, he sounds like he demands nothing but carnage and bloodshed for bloodshed's sake. Because that is all your blood can comprehend. You feel like you are listening to the ravings of a madman."

When Ammit spoke next, her voice was quiet as if she was trying to allow Erala to see a fraction of something, she could never understand: "I don't hear a madman whisper in my blood. I hear a voice as clear as glass, as sharp as a dagger, as driven as an arrow and as concise as drow poison. Believe me when I say that where you merely long to burn my flesh, I long to wait for you to fall asleep, so I can slit your throat. I wait for you to look away to add poison to your gauntlet. Even the death of Isobel makes sense in my head. It has nothing to do with her being too pure or good to exist. Scleritis Fell only claims this so that you become a good puppy and play fetch. In actuality, it is not about the girl. it is about the casualties. The ones she protects. That is the death, Bhaal was after with this order."

Her hands cradled one of her daggers. Tracing the blade with her fingers, Ammit said: "I admit, your proposition is tempting. The thought of wielding Bhaal's power to finally course-correct you all and make you fall in line like you were supposed to, is tantalising. Yet you have to remember, Father is a God. Any rebellion is met with cruel retribution. Do you really think he would be fool enough to let one of his spawns claim his domain? I have seen his mind, Erala, and I can tell you with confidence, the Lord of Murder is anything but a fool."

@more-than-a-slayer cont. from here.

[more-than-a-slayer]

no, i'm not high. my eyes are red because of the insatiable bloodlust i am experiencing. god you could be a little sympathetic.

[more-than-a-slayer]

Erala’s eyes widened for a split second when the dragonborn’s massive, taloned hand clamped around her jaw. She tried to smile, her lips quirking awkwardly as Ammit’s claws forced her into a ridiculous pout. When she tried to tilt her head, she found it held firmly in place.

And then, just as suddenly as Ammit had seized her, she released her. A slow, real smile spread across Erala’s face, her lips curling into something more genuine, something interested.

"I won't lie," she said, her voice teasing but low, as if sharing a secret. "The thought occurred to me. More than once."

She paused, briefly, taking one step closer to the dragonborn.

"But I wasn’t talking about me." Her voice dropped into something almost reverent, like she was delivering a sermon to her flock. "I am — was — the preacher. The one who shepherds the herd, who prepares the cattle for slaughter."

Erala lifted her hand and conjured a small flame that flickered to life in her palm. It twirled between her fingers with ease, a casual demonstration of control as she spoke, her eyes focused on the dancing light.

"You see," she began, her words lingering in the air like a slow, deliberate poison, "It is only fair that whoever carries the greatest burden also wields the power to match it." Erala’s cadence slowed, her words measured, as though she was savoring the meaning behind each one. Her eyes darted to Ammit, a curious glint reflecting off the flame, before she continued. "And until now… I thought that was me." She tilted her head slightly, studying Ammit with something bordering on fascination, "then I met you."

The flame flickered between her fingers again, growing for a moment, brightening as her intensity grew.

"You, Ammit," she hissed, stepping even closer, her words dripping with some sort of twisted admiration. "Judge. Jury. Executioner." Her hand shot out, fire crackling in her palm as if it might leap from her fingers. "You decide who gets to breathe, who gets snuffed out. It’s not just a butcher’s work — it’s precise. Methodical." Her voice shifted, eyes widening as though in awe. "Righteous."

"But then there’s him, Bhaal," she spat the name like it burned her tongue. "Always demanding more carnage! Without sense, without reason, just… chaos." Her voice grew sharper, the fire dancing more wildly as her frustration bled into her words. "And we, his so-called children, are nothing but puppets to him. Strings tied to our every limb, yanked whichever way his madness demands. Even now, his whispers creep into my mind, demanding that I burn your flesh!"

Erala’s gaze drifted back to the flame, her fingers quickly curling into a fist, extinguishing the flame. "It’s chaos for chaos’s sake. But you… you have purpose. You weigh the scales. You give meaning to the blood spilled."

Erala straightened herself as her hands slipped behind her back, fingers clasped together. Her posture was once again one of serene control, as if the frustrated rant from moments before had never existed. Her lips curled into a faint, knowing smile.

"So, why shouldn’t it be you, Ammit? Why shouldn’t you be the one to take the reins?" Her voice softened, but the undertone of conviction remained. "After all, you're the one who already understands what it means to bear the responsibility. Now it's time to also wield the power."

Her eyes lingered on Ammit for a moment, something both off-putting and mesmerizing in the way she spoke, as if she had truly convinced herself that this was the natural order of things.

@more-than-a-slayer Erala to Ammit

❛  wouldn't you like a taste of the power?  ❜

Erala didn’t glanced at her... sister — if she could even call Ammit that. Instead, her eyes were locked on the crackling flames in the hearth of their room at the Elfsong Tavern, her hands clasped firmly behind her back. The fire danced, casting flickering shadows on the walls, but it was nothing compared to the thoughts burning in her mind.

“I think it’s time, don’t you?” Her voice was smooth, controlled, but there was a simmering undercurrent of something urgent. “Time for the Lord of Murder to be... dethroned. Replaced.” She paused, savoring the idea, then added, with a mocking imitation of Orin’s voice, “What do you think, slaughterkin?” The last word dripped with sarcasm, a twisted echo of the way Orin liked to say it.

The crackling fires reflected in her white eyes, giving them a sickly red undercurrent. Black Dragonborns did not have red eyes. They were supposed to be green. Wrong. As little as Ammit remembered of her past, there had always been this feeling of wrongness in her gut. It was more than just the wretched blood, whispering in her ears. It was this itching and clawing in her innards, that desire to shred through her own skin. Somehow Ammit knew she did not work how she was supposed to.

"Let me guess", Ammit spoke as she looked the drow over. Her curly hair had a note of softness to itself, however, much like Ammit had offputting eyes due to their whiteness, Erala had off-putting eyes through her purpleness. Drow, like Minthara, had bloodred eyes. Not purple. It looked alien and alluring for an uncareful onlooker. Yet all Ammit saw, was the passion of youth, quivering excitement and ignorance.

"You think you are worthy enough to replace Father", Ammit said, speaking each word with the deliberate slowness of a lecture, "You think you can wield Father's powers without going completely mad? Do you even comprehend the art, you aim to perfect? The art, I was made me to judge you all by? Have you forgotten how many of our brothers and sisters I ate, because they failed the test?"

Her claws grabbed Erala by her cheeks and she lifted her head up as if she were an unruly child. "Slaughterkin." The mockery of tone and the word brought flashes of new images into her mutilated, damaged head. A little girl with ashen skin and a long, pale blond braid, covered in blood and screaming because her teeth had sunk deep into her shoulder and were peeling off a layer of her flesh. Her words whispered in the girl's ears as she muffled her screams with a mighty paw as if the flailing was not worthy of being heard: "Do better. You will never be good enough for Father if you keep failing, you measly wretch."

"You want me to consider you doing a better job than the Lord of Murder?", Ammit taunted back, her fangs bared, "Prove to me you even understand a smidge of what he embodies. Otherwise, get in line with Orin and her little art projects." A low dark chuckle and she finally let go of Erala's face. "I still remember her squealing."

[more-than-a-slayer]

Erala’s breath quickened as she strained against the silken webs holding her arms tight together. It was unfair, really — she had wanted to reach out, to feel the drider’s body beneath her fingertips, to dig her nails into its skin. The hunger to touch it, to taste it, and being prevented from it made her frustration rise. As the layers of fabric were yanked from her body, she grinned, her heart racing in anticipation. Will she be devoured? No, the drider's posture, the drider's gaze... It's hunger was not for her blood and flesh alone.

Frustrated, yes, but not any less enraptured. Not any less wet.

The glorious, sudden sting in her thigh made her hiss, her grin widening as the enticing burning sensation spreaded beneath her skin, quickly taking over her body, adding a layer of slickness to her already-growing arousal. Her previous frustration was gradually being casted aside as the pain melted into a slow, soothing warmth, just as intoxicating as the pain.

Her struggles faded as the tension seeped from her limbs, leaving her dazed, relaxed. She blinked, half-lidded, her mind still fixated on the creature before her. The desire to feel it hadn’t vanished — no, it had only deepened. Unable to touch with her hands, she spreaded her legs ever so slightly, sliding them along the drider's flanks.

The changeling's gaze drifted down to the drider’s ovipositor, her breath hitching in awe. To her, it was a marvel, a dark and twisted symbol of life in its most primal form. The thought of witnessing — experiencing — such a raw, intimate process sent a thrill down her spine, her heart pounding in strange anticipation. It was beautiful in a way few could understand — an embodiment of creation and destruction intertwined. She was captivated, utterly enraptured by the miracle she was about to behold.

Yes. She longed for this, to experience the drider’s presence in ways she hadn’t imagined before. It was thrilling, dangerous — and she welcomed it.

Its sudden movement toward her might have startled anyone else, but Erala didn’t flinch. No, this was no threat. This was an invitation. She took a slow, deliberate step closer, her breath hitching with curiosity, not fear. Her fingers hesitated for only a moment before she reached out, tracing delicate lines along the creature’s abdomen and around its vulva — miraculously in place. The smooth, chitinous surface was unexpectedly warm under her touch, pulsing with a life force both familiar and utterly alien.

She marveled at the sheer power radiating from it, her hand sliding lower to its thick, powerful spider legs. Each one carried a lethal grace, a blend of brute force and perfect balance. Her fingers followed the contours of one of the legs, feeling the coiled strength that could snap bones and pierce flesh with ease.

Erala's heart raced — not with dread, but with exhilaration. She was entranced, her mind swirling with possibilities. What kind of power must it feel, this fusion of elf and arachnid? How utterly magnificent it was, to be such a creature...

"How should I call you, beautiful miracle?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

As Erala's fingers roamed further along the drider's form, her eyes fell upon something that made her pause — hidden just beneath the creature's abdomen were its ovipositors, sleek and pulsing with a strange, hypnotic rhythm. Her breath caught, curiosity blooming in her mind like a dark flower. What kind of purpose did they serve? What secrets of creation and destruction did they hold?

A slow smile crept across her lips as her fingers traced closer, the strange anatomy igniting even more fascination within her. The sheer biological complexity of it all was mesmerizing. Erala's heart beat faster, her pulse matching the strange, pulsing movements of the creature’s body.

"A miracle, indeed..."

She leaned in, her thoughts swirling with a mix of scientific curiosity and something darker, something more primal. To be this close to something so otherworldly, to touch and explore it — it thrilled her.

[more-than-a-slayer]

You shouldn’t see my face like this. It’d do nothing but scare you. from kitty!

@mysticrosed

Erala tilted her head, a soft chuckle slipping from her lips before she could stop it. The very idea of something as simple as a face scaring her — her — was almost laughable. She’d seen nightmares far worse than any physical deformity, horrors that lived inside her own mind, clawing at her sanity. What could possibly be so terrifying about Kitty’s face?

Her eyes gleamed with a strange mix of amusement and intrigue as she stepped closer, her voice dropping to that unsettling, silky tone that always made people uneasy. “Oh, Kitty,” she murmured, her lips curving into a slight smile. “You think I would be afraid of you? After all I've seen? After all the monsters I’ve faced, both out there and in here…” She tapped her temple lightly, her gaze never leaving Kitty’s.

Slowly, she reached out, her fingers grazing Kitty’s arm, the touch gentle but carrying an odd intensity. “Let me see,” she whispered, almost pleading but in that same disconcerting way that made it feel more like a command. “Show me what you think is so terrifying. Let me look… I promise, I won't turn away.”

Erala leaned in, invasively closer, her voice barely audible now. “Don’t hide from me, Kitty. There’s nothing you could show me that would scare me.” The words were meant to be comforting, but coming from her, they held an almost chilling weight.

[more-than-a-slayer]

i'm trying my best to keep you satisfied. from astra!

@mysticrosed

Erala paused, her gaze flickering from Astra’s eyes to the dimly lit room around them. She was proud of the girl, and truly relieved to have her by her side, but the weight of everything had become unbearable. The nightmares, the constant pull of Bhaal’s madness gnawing at her mind — it was draining, wearing her down in ways she hadn’t anticipated. And yet, through all of it, Astra had been a balm, a brief reprieve from the suffocating pressure since she set foot in Baldur’s Gate.

But how could she express that? How could she say that Astra’s presence was the only thing keeping her from unraveling without sounding weak?

Erala’s lips twisted into a tired smile as she reached out, taking Astra’s face in her hands. She held the girl’s cheeks a little too tightly, her fingers pressing harder than necessary, the gesture almost affectionate — if it weren’t for the underlying edge of desperation in her touch, and the intense, unblinking stare of her eyes.

“You are," she murmured, her voice soft yet disturbingly tense, "doing more than enough." Her grip tightened for just a moment, her thumb brushing against Astra’s skin as if she didn’t know whether to thank her or pull her even closer. "More than you know."

For a moment, she let out a short laugh, though there was no real humor in it — just exhaustion. “Sometimes, Astra…” Her eyes flashed with a sharp intensity as she leaned in slightly, her breath warm against Astra’s skin. “I wonder if you even realize how much I need this. How much I need you to keep me from drowning.”

The tension lingered in the air as Erala finally released her, stepping back with an unsettling slowness. Her gratitude was real, but the way she expressed it — suffocating, desperate, and maybe even a little terrifying — made it hard to tell.

[more-than-a-slayer]

❥      NON - SEXUAL   ACTS   OF   DOMINANCE . 

feel free to edit or elaborate as you please .   ( add  ‘ reverse ‘  to your message if you’d like to see how my muse would perform the action ) . otherwise , send in one of these for my muse’s reaction to   …

[ lit ]  your muse lighting a cigarette , spliff , etc. for mine . 

[ order ]  your muse ordering for mine at a restaurant or bar .

[ guide ]  your muse putting a hand on mine’s back to lead them .

[ pay ]  your muse paying for mine at a store , bar , restaurant , etc . ( you can specify where or for what . )

[ open ]  your muse opening a door for mine .

[ dry ]  your muse drying mine off with a towel after a shower , bath , swimming , etc . 

[ instruct ]  your muse giving mine instructions / telling them what to do . 

[ groom ]  your muse adjusting mine’s appearance , such as straightening a tie , fixing their hair , or buttoning their shirt for them , etc . 

[ direct ]  your muse taking mine by the chin and telling them to look yours in the eye .

[ disagree ]  your muse sternly telling mine  ‘ no ‘ .

[ rest ]  your muse resting their arm over mine’s shoulder / s .

[ clean ]  your muse cleaning a smudge of something off mine’s cheek , forehead , etc .   feel free to specify what and how . 

[ answer ]  your muse answering a question meant for mine . 

[ coat ]   your muse holds mine’s coat out for them while they put it on .

[ pilot ]  your muse taking mine by the arm , hand , shoulder , etc . to lead them . 

[ stare ]  your muse staring mine down . 

[ placement ]  your muse telling mine to sit down .

[ teach ]  your muse taking control of mine’s hand , arm , hips , etc . to make sure they do something correctly .  

[ patience ]  your muse telling mine to be patient .

[ tears ]  your muse wiping away mine’s tears .

[ swat ]  your muse swatting mine’s hand away from something they’re not supposed to touch .  

[ jewelry  ]  your muse clasping a piece of jewelry for mine , such as a necklace , or earrings . 

[ enough ]  your muse commanding mine to stop talking . 

[ retrieve ]  your muse requesting or ordering mine to retrieve them something .

[ invite ]  your muse inviting mine to sit on their lap .

[ lean ]  your muse inviting mine to lean into their side while they’re sitting or laying together . 

[ calm ]   your muse telling mine to  ‘ just breathe ‘ .

[ scold ]  your muse scolding mine for something .

[ comfort ]  your muse pulling mine into a reassuring hug .

[ approval ]  your muse complimenting mine on a choice they’ve made .

[ beckon ]  your muse beckoning mine to them without speaking . 

[ laces ]  your muse lacing , tying , or zipping something for mine , such as shoes , a dress , or a jacket , etc .

[ stay ]  your muse telling mine to stay in the car . 

[ defend ]  your muse defending mine’s reputation , dignity , or safety for them . 

[ feed ]  your muse feeding mine something , feel free to specify what .

[ volume ]  your muse demanding mine speak louder .

[ read ]  your muse reading something to mine .

[ refill ]  your muse refilling mine’s glass for them . 

[ possessive ]  your muse resting their hand on mine’s leg or the small of their back while they’re sitting beside each other . 

[more-than-a-slayer]

Its sudden movement toward her might have startled anyone else, but Erala didn’t flinch. No, this was no threat. This was an invitation. She took a slow, deliberate step closer, her breath hitching with curiosity, not fear. Her fingers hesitated for only a moment before she reached out, tracing delicate lines along the creature’s abdomen and around its vulva — miraculously in place. The smooth, chitinous surface was unexpectedly warm under her touch, pulsing with a life force both familiar and utterly alien.

She marveled at the sheer power radiating from it, her hand sliding lower to its thick, powerful spider legs. Each one carried a lethal grace, a blend of brute force and perfect balance. Her fingers followed the contours of one of the legs, feeling the coiled strength that could snap bones and pierce flesh with ease.

Erala's heart raced — not with dread, but with exhilaration. She was entranced, her mind swirling with possibilities. What kind of power must it feel, this fusion of elf and arachnid? How utterly magnificent it was, to be such a creature...

"How should I call you, beautiful miracle?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

As Erala's fingers roamed further along the drider's form, her eyes fell upon something that made her pause — hidden just beneath the creature's abdomen were its ovipositors, sleek and pulsing with a strange, hypnotic rhythm. Her breath caught, curiosity blooming in her mind like a dark flower. What kind of purpose did they serve? What secrets of creation and destruction did they hold?

A slow smile crept across her lips as her fingers traced closer, the strange anatomy igniting even more fascination within her. The sheer biological complexity of it all was mesmerizing. Erala's heart beat faster, her pulse matching the strange, pulsing movements of the creature’s body.

"A miracle, indeed..."

She leaned in, her thoughts swirling with a mix of scientific curiosity and something darker, something more primal. To be this close to something so otherworldly, to touch and explore it — it thrilled her.

Erala hit the cold stone floor with a hard thud, the iron door of the dungeon clanging shut behind her. She winced but quickly pushed herself up, her drow eyes already adjusting to the pitch-black darkness surrounding her. The way her vision sharpened in the shadows — seeing every detail where others would be blind — was something this form offers that pleased the shapeshifter very much. It was a gift of this body, one she had grown to relish.

As she stood, dusting off her robes, her eyes landed on the creature looming in the corner of the cell: a drider. Of course Moonrise Towers would have more than one at their service. Its form, half-drow and half-spider, was massive, the long spindly legs twitching as it observed her in return.

What its interiors would look like?

The Urge made her fingers twitch, her lips curl into a twisted smile as her mind wandered into a blood-soaked fantasy. She inhaled deeply, the damp, heavy air grounding her back to reality. Most would recoil in terror at the sight of it, but if Erala had ever feared death, the memory was long gone. For her, it was the opposite — the promise of slicing and being sliced, piercing and being pierced, bleeding and watching blood flow. The edge of danger thrilled her. She stood transfixed, her breath hitching in awe.

The drider's form was a masterpiece of both elegance and terror, its sleek arachnid body coiled with lethal strength, every movement a display of feral grace. The faint glow of its many eyes enraptured her, each one watching with an unnerving intelligence. Erala moved forward slowly, her heart racing with something akin to reverence. There was something sacred in its monstrous beauty, something primal that called to her. What had once been drow blood flowed through that creature’s veins, twisted by some dark fate — and Erala wanted to understand. "So close to perfection," she whispered to herself, almost like a prayer. Her head tilted to the side, mind racing with questions. She was not looking at a monster; she was looking at a mystery. She felt the pulse of its power, the dark majesty of the creature, and it only deepened her fascination.

She raised a curious, almost reverent hand, contemplating whether to reach out and touch the drider’s formidable form. The temptation was strong — to feel the texture of its skin, the smooth hardness of its arachnid exoskeleton. But instead, she chose a more delicate approach, fingers brushing lightly against a strand of its web that hung from the ceiling. The silk was cool and impossibly fine, its intricate patterns woven with a precision that felt almost divine. She marveled at its craftsmanship, each thread telling a story of control and predation, its beauty both fragile and deadly. "A work of art..."

[more-than-a-slayer]

Erala grabbed Astra's wrist, her grip a bit too tight, halting the girl's movement abruptly. The scent of blood — it overwhelmed her senses, sparking something dark and primal deep inside her. She pressed her other hand against Astra's wound, not to heal but to feel, her fingers sinking into the warm, wet flow of blood. She could barely contain the thrill it gave her.

"Have you ever died, Astra?" Erala’s voice was unsettlingly calm, each word slipping out in a slow, controlled whisper. "Have you ever felt your life drain from you, drop by drop, as your lungs scream for air, for something — anything to hold on to?"

She leaned in, her lips almost brushing Astra's ear. "Have you ever felt your body give in, breaking apart... Piece. By. Piece?" Her fingers twisted ever so slightly against the wound, as if savoring the control she had over the fragile flesh.

Without even thinking, she brought her blood-streaked fingers to her lips, kissing them softly, tasting the coppery sweetness. For a moment, all she wanted was to lose herself in that rush, to let go, to explore the depth of Astra’s pain, to feel that warm, crimson tide cover her completely.

No.

No. No. No. No.

But then her vision swam, the world around her blurring, and just as quickly, it snapped back into focus. Her heart raced, not from the thrill, but from the sudden, horrifying realization of what she had been doing. What she had almost done.

Erala released Astra's wrist, staring at her blood-soaked fingers in disbelief. Panic gripped her chest, a sharp and unfamiliar sensation. Desperation unlike anything she'd known surged through her.

She scrambled for her pack, her hands shaking as she dug for the strongest healing potion she had. When she found it, she uncorked the vial and brought it to Astra's lips, her hands trembling as she whispered, "Don’t leave me, Astra. Please."

🩷 @more-than-a-slayer sent a prompt for astra !! ❛  i’m gonna take care of you, whether you want me to or not.  ❜

To anyone else, his words might have seemed sweet—touching, even. But not to her. She'd been raised to believe she was a tool, that her worth was tied to her usefulness, and without that, she was nothing . "I said I’m fine! I don’t need your help!" Her voice, usually soft and careful, cracked into something louder, something sharp. "I don’t need to be taken care of!" The anger in her words was real, but the fear was there too, glinting in her eyes, unspoken. "I’m not weak. I can take care of myself." She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince the other or herself.

There had been so many nights, lying sick in her own bed, when her father’s voice filled the room with cutting words about how weak she was, how useless. How could she let herself get this way, unable to even stand on her own two feet?

She shoved away from her as she got up, legs trembling, vision blurring from the blood loss. What had she been thinking? She was a healer, not a fighter. But standing aside, letting someone else carry the weight—it wasn’t in her. She had sworn to help, not to be a burden.

She took a shaky breath, her eyes landing on the spot where a foe's sword deeply slashed her through. She was exhausted, her strength drained, and every part of her was screaming to rest.

But of course, she’d helped everyone else first. It was always like that, wasn’t it?

[more-than-a-slayer]

@mysticrosed

Erala took the pastry with a delicate hand, bringing it to her lips and biting into it slowly, savoring the taste that bloomed across her tongue. The sweetness was a welcome change, far different from the constant meals of meat that had filled her recent days. It had been so long since she had tasted anything like this — something light, something that wasn't taken from a sacrifice. She let the flavor linger, closing her eyes for a brief moment, as if allowing herself a fleeting indulgence in the daily surface life.

But the moment of indulgence was short-lived. Her gaze shifted to Astra, the girl sitting so quietly before her. Erala felt a strange mix of pity and bitterness stirring inside her as she swallowed the last bite of pastry. How pathetic, to be tossed aside like that. She wondered if Astra even realized the full extent of what had been done to her. The girl looked so... small, so meek, almost like she didn’t belong in the harsh, twisted world Erala knew all too well.

Erala’s lips curled into an amused smile as she studied Astra's reaction. "You know," she mused, her voice almost teasing, "I do appreciate people with self-control. It’s in short supply at the temple. Over there, it’s nothing but a pack of wild dogs."

“You must be tired of all this too,” She murmured, her tone almost casual, but laced with something more — a sharpness that only someone like Astra, who had known pain, could understand. "Sold to a god for the price of nothing. Must be strange, isn’t it? To realize your father was willing to hand you over for a cause you probably never asked for."

Erala reached for another pastry, this time with a little more relish. She took a bite, closing her eyes briefly as the sweetness filled her mouth. It was delightful. The edge of a smile played at her lips, as though she found some private amusement in the moment.

As she chewed slowly, her eyes flickered over to Astra, still sitting in that small, uncertain way of hers. Erala’s voice, when it came, was soft, patient, almost too casual.

"Doesn't it make your blood boil?" she asked, the words slipping out smoothly, laced with quiet malice. “To know he sees your life as nothing more than a coin to trade?”

She took another bite, savoring the pastry as if they were discussing nothing more than the weather. But her gaze was locked on Astra, watching, waiting for the reaction that she knew was there, just beneath the surface.

"You and I," she continued after swallowing, her tone still light but carrying a darker undercurrent, "we have something in common. Our fathers. Yours sold you out, and mine?" She smiled, almost fondly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, let’s just say both of them are already living on borrowed time. They just don’t know it yet."

With that, she stood up slowly, taking her time, her every movement deliberate. She stepped closer, so close that Astra could feel the warmth of her breath. Erala’s finger gently touched Astra’s lips, the gesture soft but loaded with unspoken power.

"You serve me now," Erala whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, but it carried the weight of command. "Me. Not your father. He had lost this privilege in the moment he demanded that pouch of coins. Not Bhaal. He won't be here for long enough to earn your devotion."

She pulled back just as slowly, extending her hand to Astra, her eyes gleaming with something between anticipation and possessiveness. "Come," she said with a smirk. "I have plans for you."

@mysticrosed

Erala studied Astra for a moment, her gaze taking in the girl’s timid demeanor. Astra's voice was soft, pleasant to hear, as she recited the list of her abilities, the words rehearsed and empty.

The changeling sighed internally, her frustration masked by a cool exterior. She could see the girl’s preaching potential, but it was buried beneath layers of obedience and fear of the wrong master.

“Astra,” Erala said gently, leaning forward to place her cup of tea on the table, moving just enough to catch the girl's wavering eyes. “I see you're a good little mockingbird, repeating what it had been taught.”

Her voice was firm but not unkind, urging Astra to break free from the script she’d been given. This was a test, but not of the abilities her father had claimed. Erala wanted to see if Astra could find her own voice.

"Our Father rejoices when blood is spilled, especially our own." She continues, her voice dropping to a sinister whisper. "Blood, Astra — blood is his true worship. Each drop spilled is like a hymn sung in his honor, a sacrifice that feeds his insatiable hunger.”

She let the words linger, watching for Astra's reaction before continuing, her eyes narrowing with a chilling intensity. “Tell me, sweet little mockingbird... Why do you think your father sent you to me?”

[more-than-a-slayer]

Erala stopped in her tracks, Kitty’s words lingering in the air between them. “Fun…” she repeated, her voice soft, as though she were savoring the taste of the word. Her eyes drifted to the horizon, a distant look flickering across her face. There was a touch of drama in her posture—something she was never shy about embracing. A performance, yes, but one that she reveled in.

“Yes, we can have fun, of course,” she said, the words flowing out smoothly as she turned back to Kitty, her lips curving into a gentle smile.

With a playful air, Erala reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of dice, letting them roll lazily between her fingers. "Though I must admit,” she said, her voice light but carrying a note of mock seriousness, “I’m not particularly skilled at this sort of game." She tilted her head, catching Kitty's eye, knowing full well that wasn't the kind of fun Kitty had meant.

Still, she kept up the act, her expression innocent yet with a glint of mischief. A spark of something deeper flickered behind her gaze. “But with the right company… perhaps I could improve.” Her words were laced with a teasing softness, a subtle invitation, hinting that what she offered went far beyond a mere game.

Despite her playful tone, Erala hated the idea of "just having fun." There was no middle ground for her — she was all or nothing. Kitty would either be hers, completely and utterly, or not at all. No blurred lines, no half-hearted games. Perhaps she'd made a mistake by giving in too early, by granting Kitty exactly what she wanted too soon. She should have teased more, left her longing, aching for more of what Erala could give. But that misstep could be corrected. But she would play the half-elf's game, for now. Erala was possessive, and Kitty would understand that soon enough.

Stepping closer, Erala leaned in, her lips hovering near Kitty's ear, her voice a sultry whisper, "May I convince you to set up a proper setting for our fun, at least?" The words dripped with the promise of something deeper, something far beyond what Kitty had bargained for. "Moss and stone are beautiful, but they're hardly... Comfortable."

@mysticrosed

Suddenly, Kitty's hands were everywhere, moving with a desperate urgency as if this were the last thing she’d ever do. Erala couldn't help but find the girl’s eagerness both endearing and amusing. Kitty’s frantic energy was almost overwhelming, but it brought a smirk to Erala’s lips. She couldn’t resist the urge to tease her, to push the limits just a little and see how far that desperation would go.

Erala's smirk deepened as she suddenly pulled Kitty closer, her grip firm but playful. She shifted her weight, and they tumbled to the ground together. The soft moss cushioned their fall, and Erala let out a low, satisfied laugh as she rolled over, pinning Kitty beneath her.

Their lips met again, the kiss more urgent, more fervent as they lay entangled on the ground. Erala's fingers threaded through Kitty's hair, tugging lightly as she deepened the kiss, her movements confident and controlled. She broke away just enough to murmur against Kitty's lips, her voice filled with teasing warmth, "So eager, aren't you?"

Erala let Kitty’s frantic kisses linger for a moment longer, savoring the raw need in her touch. But just as Kitty’s desperation seemed to reach its peak, Erala pulled back, breaking the kiss with a playful smirk. She placed a finger gently on Kitty’s lips, silencing any protest before it could begin.

"Easy now," Erala murmured, her tone teasing as she looked into Kitty’s eyes. "We wouldn’t want to rush things, would we?" Her hand trailed down Kitty’s arm, a soft, deliberate touch, hinting at what was to come.

Erala slowly pulled away from Kitty, her breath steady as she rose to her feet. She looked down at Kitty with a lingering gaze, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. She clasped her hands behind her back and began to walk away, each step deliberate and unhurried.

“We need somewhere more private,” she said, her voice smooth and inviting, “and more comfortable.” The playful edge in her tone remained, but there was a new promise in her words.

Erala glanced over her shoulder at Kitty, her eyes glinting with intent. "This was meant to be special," she said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "And I fully intend to make it so."

She didn’t look back as she moved forward.

[more-than-a-slayer]

Erala hit the cold stone floor with a hard thud, the iron door of the dungeon clanging shut behind her. She winced but quickly pushed herself up, her drow eyes already adjusting to the pitch-black darkness surrounding her. The way her vision sharpened in the shadows — seeing every detail where others would be blind — was something this form offers that pleased the shapeshifter very much. It was a gift of this body, one she had grown to relish.

As she stood, dusting off her robes, her eyes landed on the creature looming in the corner of the cell: a drider. Of course Moonrise Towers would have more than one at their service. Its form, half-drow and half-spider, was massive, the long spindly legs twitching as it observed her in return.

What its interiors would look like?

The Urge made her fingers twitch, her lips curl into a twisted smile as her mind wandered into a blood-soaked fantasy. She inhaled deeply, the damp, heavy air grounding her back to reality. Most would recoil in terror at the sight of it, but if Erala had ever feared death, the memory was long gone. For her, it was the opposite — the promise of slicing and being sliced, piercing and being pierced, bleeding and watching blood flow. The edge of danger thrilled her. She stood transfixed, her breath hitching in awe.

The drider's form was a masterpiece of both elegance and terror, its sleek arachnid body coiled with lethal strength, every movement a display of feral grace. The faint glow of its many eyes enraptured her, each one watching with an unnerving intelligence. Erala moved forward slowly, her heart racing with something akin to reverence. There was something sacred in its monstrous beauty, something primal that called to her. What had once been drow blood flowed through that creature’s veins, twisted by some dark fate — and Erala wanted to understand. "So close to perfection," she whispered to herself, almost like a prayer. Her head tilted to the side, mind racing with questions. She was not looking at a monster; she was looking at a mystery. She felt the pulse of its power, the dark majesty of the creature, and it only deepened her fascination.

She raised a curious, almost reverent hand, contemplating whether to reach out and touch the drider’s formidable form. The temptation was strong — to feel the texture of its skin, the smooth hardness of its arachnid exoskeleton. But instead, she chose a more delicate approach, fingers brushing lightly against a strand of its web that hung from the ceiling. The silk was cool and impossibly fine, its intricate patterns woven with a precision that felt almost divine. She marveled at its craftsmanship, each thread telling a story of control and predation, its beauty both fragile and deadly. "A work of art..."

open rp ;; 18+ only It had taken the creature some time to get used to it's new surrounding. Being dragged from the underdark had been a horrific experience - it still bore plenty of scars and marks from it. The dungeon it currently resided in was at least far more dim than it's previous holding cell, burning it's sensitive eyes. It's body was aching - it had been so long since it had had a toy to play with. And whilst it had been working on transforming this space, casting it's webs up against the walls, where it now rested. They knew well what they'd done to it - the corridors were kept constantly brightly lit, to stop it escaping. So when the door was pushed open, it drew back with a hiss - and then someone was shoved in, and the door slammed again, throwing them back into darkness.

[more-than-a-slayer]

a small psa that, if you’re writing with me, there’s never any pressure.  you can always take as much time responding to things as you need.  days, weeks, months, it’s fine with me!   you and your well-being come first.   i never want you to feel like i’m expecting you to write, because that’s never the case.  and i never want you to feel rushed for replies.  you, the mun, always come first, full stop.  <3

[more-than-a-slayer]

@mysticrosed

Erala moved with deliberate care as she prepared the space, her steps echoing softly in the small cavern. The natural gloom of the bioluminescent mushrooms seemed to amplify the glow of the enchanted candles she’d placed strategically around the cave room. These lights cast a warm, flickering illumination that danced gently off the glistening walls, creating a soft, golden ambiance that contrasted beautifully with the darkness.

The small cavern was nestled at the edge of a small, serene lake, its shallow waters shimmering with a captivating, otherworldly light. The crystal-clear water revealed the bed of glowing crystals that dotted its bottom, their soft, iridescent light dancing gently with the ripples, casting a mesmerizing glow that added an extra layer of enchantment to the already magical setting. The subtle, soothing lapping of the water against the shore provided a tranquil backdrop to the romantic ambiance Erala was carefully crafting.

She spread out plush cushions and animal pelts on the ground, arranging them into a comfortable nest that promised relaxation and intimacy. Each cushion was chosen for its rich texture and deep, inviting color — hues of deep violet and midnight blue that harmonized with the natural tones of the cavern. Over them, she hanged an elegant, flowing curtain, the delicate patterns of its semi-transparent fabric catching the light and adding a touch of opulence.

Next, Erala set out an array of delicate, fragrant flowers — exotic blooms that had been carefully cultivated to thrive in the Underdark’s unique environment. Their subtle, sweet aroma filled the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the cavern in a way that felt both exotic and comforting.

To complete the setting, she placed a small, low table in the center, adorned with a bottle of a fine wine she had been holding for a special occasion and an assortment of delectable mushroom treats she had toasted herself. The table was lit by a cluster of softly glowing crystals, their light reflecting off the polished surface, casting a gentle radiance that added to the room’s romantic allure.

Erala surveyed her work with a satisfied nod. Every detail had been attended to, every element carefully chosen to create a space that was not just beautiful but profoundly comfortable. She wanted this encounter to be memorable, a rare moment of beauty and tranquility in this journey. As she finished her preparations, she allowed herself a moment of quiet anticipation, her gaze lingering on the carefully crafted setting that awaited.

After changing into comfortable clothes, it was time to get her special guest there.

With a subtle flick of her wrist, she summoned a Mage Hand, its translucent form materializing in the air. She guided it deftly toward Kitty, reaching out to insistently poke on Kitty's shoulder. Then mischievously messed her hair, almost brushing it all across her face.

Erala’s eyes sparkled with a playful glint as she maneuvered the Mage Hand to continue its subtle torment, lightly tugging at Kitty’s clothing, flicking at her ears, or making harmless objects nearby shift just enough to be distracting.

And if it gets destroyed, well, Erala could always summon another and another, closer and closer until she gets there.

[more-than-a-slayer]

@mysticrosed

Suddenly, Kitty's hands were everywhere, moving with a desperate urgency as if this were the last thing she’d ever do. Erala couldn't help but find the girl’s eagerness both endearing and amusing. Kitty’s frantic energy was almost overwhelming, but it brought a smirk to Erala’s lips. She couldn’t resist the urge to tease her, to push the limits just a little and see how far that desperation would go.

Erala's smirk deepened as she suddenly pulled Kitty closer, her grip firm but playful. She shifted her weight, and they tumbled to the ground together. The soft moss cushioned their fall, and Erala let out a low, satisfied laugh as she rolled over, pinning Kitty beneath her.

Their lips met again, the kiss more urgent, more fervent as they lay entangled on the ground. Erala's fingers threaded through Kitty's hair, tugging lightly as she deepened the kiss, her movements confident and controlled. She broke away just enough to murmur against Kitty's lips, her voice filled with teasing warmth, "So eager, aren't you?"

Erala let Kitty’s frantic kisses linger for a moment longer, savoring the raw need in her touch. But just as Kitty’s desperation seemed to reach its peak, Erala pulled back, breaking the kiss with a playful smirk. She placed a finger gently on Kitty’s lips, silencing any protest before it could begin.

"Easy now," Erala murmured, her tone teasing as she looked into Kitty’s eyes. "We wouldn’t want to rush things, would we?" Her hand trailed down Kitty’s arm, a soft, deliberate touch, hinting at what was to come.

Erala slowly pulled away from Kitty, her breath steady as she rose to her feet. She looked down at Kitty with a lingering gaze, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. She clasped her hands behind her back and began to walk away, each step deliberate and unhurried.

“We need somewhere more private,” she said, her voice smooth and inviting, “and more comfortable.” The playful edge in her tone remained, but there was a new promise in her words.

Erala glanced over her shoulder at Kitty, her eyes glinting with intent. "This was meant to be special," she said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "And I fully intend to make it so."

She didn’t look back as she moved forward.

@mysticrosed

The lakeside next to their camp in the Underdark is a picturesque scene of bioluminescent mushrooms and sharp, colorful crystals. The rock where Erala and Kitty stand at is a colossal, jagged boulder, smooth and cool to the touch. It juts out from the bank, the water below steady, dark and calm. The top of the rock is flat and wide, with lush moss grass growing around the edges.

Erala could feel Kitty's impatience, etched in her posture and expression. She turned to the half-elf, her red eyes reflecting the lights of the mushrooms. "Patience, little one," she murmured, her voice a low, husky purr. "Magic doesn't rush. Neither should you.”

“You were doing so well lately. It’s just a matter of practice now.” Erala’s voice was calm and almost soothing, though there was a subtle edge of patronizing eagerness beneath her words. She could see it — Kitty’s raw potential simmering just below the surface. The girl was filled with anger, untamed emotions, and some powerful feelings that she harbored toward nearly everything around her. Kitty was like a crystal of raw energy, sharp and unrefined, and Erala was determined to shape that power, to hone it into something formidable. If she could just focus all that energy, Kitty could become something… unstoppable.

Erala reached out, taking Kitty’s hand with a firm but gentle grip, just as she had done before. Her fingers curled around Kitty’s, guiding her through the precise motions needed for the Firebolt spell. “Feel the energy here,” Erala leaned in close, her voice low and rasping as she murmured instructions into Kitty's ear. Her arm slid firmly around Kitty’s waist, steadying her as they stood together. The warmth of Erala's body pressed against Kitty's back, grounding her, while the heat of the magic they were conjuring pulsed between them. Each breath Erala took was calm and measured, guiding Kitty's focus, keeping her centered as power crackled at her fingertips. Sparks began to flicker as their hands moved in tandem, the heat building in the air between them. 

“Wield it. Unleash it.” Erala said, her eyes fixed on Kitty’s with an intensity that matched the growing flame. Slowly, she eased her grip, letting Kitty channel the final burst of energy on her own. The Firebolt shot forward, small but focused, and Erala allowed a hint of satisfaction to curl at the edge of her lips.

“Well done, Kitty,” Erala praised, her voice a low rumble, still holding her waist firmly. "Very well done." Slowly, she released Kitty's waist, turning to face her fully. Her gaze lingered on Kitty for a moment, a subtle pride in her eyes, though her expression remained composed, the magic still humming in the air. Kitty had done well — better than Erala had expected — and the thrill of seeing that raw power begin to take shape stirred something deep within her.

With deliberate care, Erala raised Kitty's chin and pressed her lips against hers, a slow and tender kiss that lingered with the promise of more. It was a reward, a sign of her pride, and a taste of the power Kitty was beginning to unlock.

[more-than-a-slayer]

@mysticrosed

Erala studied Astra for a moment, her gaze taking in the girl’s timid demeanor. Astra's voice was soft, pleasant to hear, as she recited the list of her abilities, the words rehearsed and empty.

The changeling sighed internally, her frustration masked by a cool exterior. She could see the girl’s preaching potential, but it was buried beneath layers of obedience and fear of the wrong master.

“Astra,” Erala said gently, leaning forward to place her cup of tea on the table, moving just enough to catch the girl's wavering eyes. “I see you're a good little mockingbird, repeating what it had been taught.”

Her voice was firm but not unkind, urging Astra to break free from the script she’d been given. This was a test, but not of the abilities her father had claimed. Erala wanted to see if Astra could find her own voice.

"Our Father rejoices when blood is spilled, especially our own." She continues, her voice dropping to a sinister whisper. "Blood, Astra — blood is his true worship. Each drop spilled is like a hymn sung in his honor, a sacrifice that feeds his insatiable hunger.”

She let the words linger, watching for Astra's reaction before continuing, her eyes narrowing with a chilling intensity. “Tell me, sweet little mockingbird... Why do you think your father sent you to me?”

@karmints

Erala must admit, she was expecting an... Entirely different welcome. It's good to be met with true politeness for once, instead of pretentious bragging or grating adulation.

She smiles back to the girl in front of her, a short nod marking her words.

"The tea will be much appreciated, lady Lunafrey."

Erala took a seat, her shoulders squared in a composed yet alert posture. She observed the estate's security — practically nonexistent. The fact that the mistress of the house was offering herself to prepare the tea indicates a defcit in the staff too. The furniture was lavish, and the decor was overtly luxurious, yet old and out-of-fashion. Clear signs of a noble desperately trying to delay his own fall from grace, leaning on Bhaal for help, and offering his own daughter as a sacrificial lamb.

He could have asked for power. For magical expertise. For forbidden knowledge. For true immortality. But instead he asked for coin. Small droplets of gold in his bank vault. Such a narrow-minded, small-aimed human.

Such a pathetic old maggot.

Yes, the old man will have his pouch of gold and jewels. And she will have the girl in turn. Not as a sacrifice, but as an apprentice. With her guidance, this little lamb would become something formidable. But first, she must know if the daughter would be not as pathetic as the father.

"Your father spoke very fondly of your abilities. He said you had the charms and manners of a princess, and now I can see why." She offers the girl a charming, polite smile while she begins what one could see as an innocent interview. "But I'd like to know directly from you — what would you say that are your most valuable skills?"

[more-than-a-slayer]

re-added this to my rules bc the vibes the last few months have been weird