#its always the terms and conditions that get you: mizora||in character

[shimmerbeasts]

"How quaint", Mizora purred sweetly. "Somebody here thought that seeing a devil's ascended form would be fun. And how droll. They even called it spooky. Poor girl, we would not want to terrify you too much, would we? I doubt you would be worth the effort of being licked off the ground or fed to the dogs. Smeared paste is not really nutritious, if you catch my drift."

[bloodinavernus]

Send 😙 for my muse’s reaction to yours being super affectionate.

Relationship Building||Accepting.

It was almost like the time she had been nursing her broken wrist before they had taken care of the Netherbrain. Jaheira had tended to the wound back then, and she tended to her more egregious wounds now. The Cambion was allowed shelter in Jaheira's grove, hidden under her house. No doubt, it was done not to alarm any visitors, as, right now, Mizora lacked the energy and willpower to don her human disguise for a prolonged period.

The only visitor down into the grove was Jaheira herself, though once in a while, Mizora caught a glimpse of the youngest of the cubs, a little human girl with fern blond hair and bright blue eyes, peering down the staircase as if she was daring herself to venture forth into the realm of a monster. And even though Mizora did her hardest to not disturb the fragile ecosystem in the grove, once in a while her instincts resulted in a wilted flower or a dead bird.

Jaheira was her only regular visitor. The high harper would come down the spiral ladder, tend to the wounds she had, keep her company for a while and then go back up again. For the rest of the time, Mizora paced around in the grove like a tiger in a glorified cage or sat on the bed and stared at the ceiling, feeling dreadfully bored. Recovering from wounds was always so bloody tedious, especially if you did not have a good cleric close by.

For the last fifteen minutes or so, Mizora had tried to break the monotony of the grove by humming to herself. She had already killed yet another bird, whose cheerful chirping had been grating her nerves. Now, she sat there, humming and prodding the corpse with her claws, yanking out feathers with precise plucks. Her palm massaged the robin's little chest, and she debated whether she could get away with slicing its belly open and eating that little heart like a berry. It would maybe make it so that she did not have the scathing desire to set Jaheira's house on fire.

Right as the Cambion was about to sink her claw into that deep red plume, a pair of weathered, aged hands wrapped themselves around her stomach. Her wings shot open in surprise, however they settled down as soon as the familiar warmth of Jaheira's elven body pressed itself against her spine. Even her tail tip did a little wag as Jaheira pressed a couple of affectionate kisses upon her neck and peered over her shoulder, looking down at the dead bird.

Following her gaze, Mizora began to slowly cut deeper into the bird's flesh, breaking its ribs and easing its chest cavity open. Blood coated her fingers as the Cambion explained: "I am sorry. I have gotten very irritated during the whole recovery process. I appreciate you trying to heal me, but my instincts are so understimulated down here! It is absolutely terrible."

She made no attempt to push Jaheira away and instead simply allowed her to keep hugging her belly and kissing her neck and shoulder blades or snuggling against her auburn hair. Mizora picked out the tiny heart of the robin. It really was not much larger than a berry. Popping it on her claw, the Cambion was about to pull it off with her teeth when she remarked: "You are surprisingly cuddly with someone who's currently dissecting a bird and about to eat its heart. Shouldn't animal cruelty be a big no-go for your druid friends?"

[shimmerbeasts]

Thank you.

Huevember day 6 with Mizora! Would you take her deal? 😈

[shimmerbeasts]

Mizora tsked softly as she watched the disaster child @vampsyred and @dev1lsadvocate had called their daughter. She mused, "I would encourage such feralness. Though, perhaps, it would do her some good to have a safe space to experiment with her cravings, which is not in your house. But clearly, none of you want to sacrifice a small space or the court -"

There was a sudden zap and a chill behind her. Mizora turned her head to take note of the frozen sphere a few feet behind her. Her gaze turned to the caster, a young, strange Tiefling, her skin a patchwork of brown and blue, who shouted: "I figured out another element, Mizora! Look, I can create ice now!"

"Well done, Lily", Mizora purred, lips twitching into a benign grin as she inspected the shuddering lemure, slipping around on the surface, unable to find its footing.

"See what I mean?"

[shimmerbeasts]

Mizora: I think I lost my warlock. Raphael: Hang on, I got this one. *takes a deep breath, then screams from the top of his lungs* "OH NO! KARLACH IS WITH ANOTHER MAN!" Wyll: *pops up from behind a rock* WHO?! Mizora: O.O Raphael: You're welcome.

[shimmerbeasts]

“Ma’ doesn’t like this one. Shit, not even Nana would like her, and she liked a lot of mortals. Why you keep her around?”

Mizora dangled upside down from a tree branch, her tail wrapped tight like a grappling hook. One hand let go — balance test! — while the other stretched dramatically toward the ground, like she was holding up the whole world with just one finger. Wings folded tight — using them was cheating! A rule she made up, just like all the others, and just like all the others, it only made sense in her head.

With a loud, exaggerated huff — equal parts frustration and fake amusement — she launched herself from the branch, landing in a twirl, arms flaring for extra dramatic effect. “You know that, right?”

But she was being ignored.

And if there was one thing Mizora could not stand, it was being ignored.

Circling her other self like a hungry little vulture, she leaned in from behind, then dipped under the other’s wing, her big, mischievous eyes staring up — too close, too annoying, too impossible to ignore.

“The old crone is PROBLEM,” she sing-songed, all wide-eyed and knowing. “She’s gonna get us in trouble!”

"But godsdamn me for caring about you."

Ever since Jaheira had yelled those words, Mizora had been unable to get them out of her head. She had been forced to acknowledge that something about Jaheira was different than her usual targets. For Jaheira was still the target of a deal. Mizora clung to this knowledge like a lifeline. However, even she had to admit that somehow sometime during the coronation of Gortasch and their strange private adventure in Avernus' bowels, something had happened between them. Something, which could be worrying if Mizora did not keep an eye on it.

Zariel had already disapproved of how Mizora handled her dynamic with Wyll. Even though he had not been her first pet in training, the archdevil still believed that the deeper bonds, the Cambion fostered with her charges, was a dangerous violation of the ethos. As far as most devils were concerned, a fiend patron had to be above their warlock and treat them accordingly. Most translated that into continuous torture and torment as soon as the honeymoon before a struck deal had ended. But Mizora's souls turned into the most gruesome, yet loyal monsters because the Cambion had convinced her charges that she knew what was best for them when they had still been alive.

It seemed her mind had come to a similar conclusion for soon enough, Mizora could hear the familiar voice of her imaginary friend, a younger version of herself, spun right from memory. The Cambion could dimly tell that her other self was hanging by her tail from a tree branch, playing Resting Bat. Something, Mizora had done when she had been ten years old and had known little of just how dangerous the hells would be for a Cambion. She chose to ignore her younger self's antiques, not having the time to be impressed by her being able to dangle from that tree.

What did that squirming, little thing want? A medal?

Mizora scoffed and responded callously: "Nana liked any mortal, which breathed and had reproductive organs in it."

She made no remark on Zariel, knowing unfortunately that her younger self had a point. Her gaze drifted down to the wrist in its splint. After Zariel had learned that Mizora had essentially saved and guided a mortal woman out of Avernus all the while avoiding detection, she had broken the Cambion's wrist. Specifically, the one through which Mizora handled most of her magic. She would be handicapped for the next few months until that injury healed.

She kept ignoring her imaginary self, much to little Mizzy's chagrin. The younger Cambion circled around her like a vulture, even dipping under her wing before she shoved up again, shoving that smug, little face with its big, impatient, red eyes right under Mizora's nose. Now the older Cambion had to give the nuisance her attention. That little illusion in her mind should be glad she was imaginary. Otherwise, Mizora might have just swiped at her for the incessant pestering.

"She already has, in case you did not notice." Mizora rose the wrist in its splint. "I am as grounded as a sorcerer can be. As for why do I keep her around? Well, for one, I just like her company. For another, though, I still believe that I can get her to sign a deal eventually. Unfortunately, unlike Wyll, Jaheira is the type of person who needs a bit more patience to pull it off. Currently, I may not present any results, but that does not mean I am not working. Raphael goes for despair, but we all know there is nothing better than to have someone say to a contract Yes so easily as if they were merely breathing."

[shimmerbeasts]

I agree with all of this, but I also would like to add something probably a bit controversial. If we look at this from Mizora's angle, the fact that Wyll is a heroic person who is forced by very bad circumstances into becoming a warlock, also explains why Mizora for example hangs out in our camp after we freed Wyll from the pact. I know a lot of people hate and complain about this fact, but consider the following:

Mizora likely has made many deals in the past. And like OP and many of the reblogs said, warlocks are usually power-hungry or well, more clearly connotated as something evil. Wyll, as we saw, is none of that stuff. For Mizora, that would make him immediately memorable and explain why she loves toying with him and pushing him this much.

Wyll is not your typical warlock. Him, being suited for another class, is not just affecting him in my opinion, but it also affects Mizora and why she is as creepily invested in him as she is. After all, if Wyll was just like any other warlock, then her "losing" him so to speak, would not matter. Mizora could have just gotten herself a new warlock. No biggie.

Wyll, on the other hand, yeah that type of personality and those circumstances would not return that quickly. Of course, she becomes spiteful enough to attempt to hurt Wyll by seducing Tav. Of course, she plans on killing Ulder if we somehow manage to save him and break Mizora's contract. She just lost a very unique type of investment and a pretty damn effective bloodhound (something she specifically calls Wyll in his origin run) for herself.

Naturally, she is gonna be an arsehole about this!

In short, both Mizora and Wyll are shaped by the fact that Wyll is not a traditional warlock. The fact that people cannot notice that nuance will never not drive me up a wall.

"wyll shouldve been *insert class here* instead!" i mean, im glad you picked up on that, but thats kinda... the whole thing? he wouldve taken any hand before he resorted to mizora, but mizora was the only one who offered one. his line "the only thing a gods ever given me is a cold shoulder" is dropped casually, but crucial to his character. he shouldve been anything other than a fiend warlock. when he reunited with his father all those years ago, he shouldve been imbued with the power of fuckin, like, tyr or something. he shouldve been made a paladin or a cleric or even just a normal lvl 1 guy who got some greater power to do all that shit for him. the devs expected a target audience of d&d players, so him being a warlock at all was supposed to surprise players

[bloodinavernus]

Alright, given that this blog is now mostly up and running (and only misses some graphic tweaks), give this post a like or reblog if you want a small starter with Mizora.

[shimmerbeasts]

The maelstrom tore through the room like the wrath of the Avernus itself, a chaotic whirlwind of fire, feathers, dust, glass and fury. Mizora instinctively raised her hand, shielding her face as if the feeble gesture could offer some protection against the force bearing down on her. She felt the vibration in the floor, the walls, her very core — but whether the room shook or it was just her legs, she couldn't tell. Upon hearing her name, her knees screamed to buckle under the weight of her dread, but Mizora forced herself into a deliberate, respectful kneel, her movements calculated and slow, as if fearing that any sudden movement could trigger a predator's brutal strike. The air was suffocating, blistering against her skin. Sweat trickled down her brow and neck, only to evaporate into the roaring inferno before it could cool her. Her breath hitched; even drawing air felt like a punishment. And then it stopped. The maelstrom dissipated into cinders and smoke, and there stood the figure of a drow — pale as the ash from which she was conjured, her presence smoldering with an authority that turned the air razor-thin. Mizora dared not lift her eyes. The words that fell from Zariel's lips sliced through her, not just her pride but her very essence.Every syllable was a reminder of the precarious line she walked. She could not stammer, could not falter, for such weakness would be fatal. Instead, she honed her focus inward, grounding herself in the rhythm of her breathing, the pounding of her heart, the maddening psionic pulse of the parasite embedded in her skull. When she spoke, her voice was low, carefully measured, the words chosen as if each carried the weight of her survival. Because they did. “I have been taken to the cult’s very heart, witnessed their operations, their leaders, their plans. This position, although dire, granted me unparalleled access — not just to end this false god's threat, but to turn the mortals who oppose him into offerings. I can bind their souls to your will, my Lady. All I require is time.” The words hung in the air like a plea wrapped in confidence, and Mizora prayed — yes, prayed — that they would be enough.

Mizora managed to keep her absolute dread under control, which spoke favourably of her daughter. The Cambion, instead of falling to her knees in terror, deliberately bent her knees in deep respect. Her wings pooled around and her gaze was averted. Zariel stared down at the joints, connecting her wings to her shoulders, and for the fraction of a second wondered what it would feel like to pull those wings from their sockets, ripping through sinews, muscle fibres and spilling blood.

Mizora had failed in her mission and endangered herself and by an extent, Avernus. The archduchess should slaughter her daughter for this crime. However, given that the little Cambion so far had done her work with diligence and skill, something which would be amiss where she to die, Zariel decided to grant Mizora the chance to bargain for her life. After all, despair often drove forth the most interesting ideas from people. Most were so ludicrous that Zariel ended up killing the offender anyhow, even when they pleaded their case. Yet sometimes, someone offered an idea, which despite its madness, was just tantalising and interesting enough for Zariel to steady her hand.

The albino drow tilted her head to the side as Mizora claimed that not only had she been able to see the Cult leaders in action, but even promised that she could bind the souls of those opposing the Absolute to the Archduchess of Avernus. It was a bold claim. The type of boldness, you would only ever propose if your life was on the line. And yet Zariel had to recommend Mizora for that bravery. The little Cambion knew what her mistress valued and what she could offer, which reflected that value.

Zariel stepped closer so that she stood right in front of the Cambion. She smirked and leaned forward, tapping her spear against Mizora's head. The Archdevil said: "So, let me get this straight. You believe yourself confident and skilled enough in this wretched state that you can deliver not just one, but six souls to me. From which two in a manner of speaking already belong to me if the right circumstances are met." She chuckled darkly as her grin widened, baring a full set of teeth, the drow's red eyes overtaken by a blaze of white fire. "You are either a mastermind or a fool, little girl."

Zariel was no stranger to high-risk situations. There was a certain gambler's high when you had to plan a battle against impossible odds. At the same time, no victory tasted more satisfying or sweeter than when you had beaten an army in a fight, you should have lost by all accounts. Mizora right now was her little gambit. The horse with the limp which promised it could still reach the finish line if it just pushed itself hard enough. And she had to admit that seeing Mizora succeed in this high-risk environment was just as entertaining as the thought of watching her fail.

"Very well", Zariel said, "I'll let you try this ludicrous idea of yours. If you succeed, I might reward you for your service. But should you fail, well, then I believe I have found a lovely new figurehead for my Flying Fortress' bow."

@dev1lsadvocate cont. from here.

[shimmerbeasts]

8 for Naafiri + Mizora

Spotify Wrapped||Accepting.

We'll Be Fine from EPIC: The Musical

"We think you are being a bit harsh on him."

Naafiri stepped out of the blood and gore, with which they had teleported themselves to Mizora's side. As per usual, the Darkin was followed by a few of their packmates - smaller and leaner dogs, their scarlet pelt so dense it made them seem more made of muscles than fur. Whereas Naafiri's neck was adorned by long, shivering, vicious blades, these hounds had a single sharp dagger protruding from their foreheads.

Several pairs of yellow, pupilless glowing eyes locked onto the sleeping boy, curled up in unrest on his cot. Brown skin, a badly scarred face, which clashed wildly with how young he was, just as his modest clothing seemed a willful contradiction with his upbringing as the child of an archduke. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and fear, stress and strain made the air thick around him.

They turned their attention towards Mizora. "He is young", Naafiri's main body spoke, "All of this is incredibly new to him. We are not saying to not push him, but we do believe you are pushing the lad too fast and too quickly." The main body stepped over to Wyll and sniffed at his neck. They walked back over to Mizora. "What happened to Wyll must feel like a travesty to him. It is a lot to take in. You have to give him time to process that. We had to take a while to process what happened to us after all. Even this new body was something, we had to attune to."

The hound dropped on their haunches and looked back at Wyll. "Give it time", Naafiri reiterated, "He will do much better later. Underneath all that heroic morale, he seems like quite the clever lad. You just have to find a way to get that to the forefront then you should have quite a nice warlock."

[shimmerbeasts]

Where Raphael tried to sweeten the chance meeting with a syrupy smile, Mizora wore no such expression of pleasantry. This was not some social obligation where Mizora and the other Cambion had to rub elbows with one another and do small talk for the sake of courtship. This was an encroachment upon her territory and claim. Something, Mizora would not tolerate. She had trusted Wyll to handle himself, and her pup had done well so far. However, the longer Raphael droned on, assuming he could drag her name through the mud and try to ensnare her catch, the more Mizora felt her anger flare up.

Listening to Raphael drone on and on because of how infatuated he was with his voice was always a bit of a chore. Much like her mother, Mizora handled diplomacy and the courtship of the Nine Hells in different ways than devils, who tried to pour honey into each other's ears until one of them blacked out.

Raphael, without a doubt, was one of the worst offenders when it came to the pouring of honey. His assumptions, piling on top of each other, spoke more of his own narcissism than any perceived finesse and ability to adjust according to the other person in the room. It was hilarious really: Raphael believed himself such a talent and above everybody else, even his fellow Cambions, yet what he had done? Hid in the House of Hope, collecting souls and using them for his own entertainment rather than labour! His contracts were not even that creative or varied. You had more luck having Raphael notice you by wearing a mirror!

"Careful, Raphael", Mizora warned, "lest you choke on your spit. Or is it mine?"

A low, abrasive growl resounded around Raphael and a strange pressure enveloped the Cambion's head. A pair of elongated jaws, filled to the prim with jagged and pointy teeth closed itself around him and pressed down slowly. No blood leaked out of the pressure points as the muscles in the jaws had enough control to not rip through the flesh. A cloud of hot, moist breath caressed Raphael's cheeks and neck, smelling of sulphur, blood and rotting meat. Somewhere, from teeth out of range, a strand of saliva came loose and cascaded down upon Raphael's face, slathering across the bridge of his nose.

Her ruby eyes locked with Raphael's. Mizora gave a brief, barely audible swallow. Then, agonisingly slowly, the invisible jaws retreated. A canine-like growl resumed one last time as if to make it clear the considerable amount of restraint, Mizora had shown, the mercy she had bestowed someone with, who in her eyes would serve better as Hellhound kibble than standing.

"A mutually beneficial arrangement, you say?", Mizora repeated and finally actually bothered granting Raphael something akin to a response to his rambling, "Interesting. I don't recall asking you to help Wyll in this." She turned towards Wyll and with a dismissive wave of her hand, said: "Puppy, do me the favour and refresh my memory? What was that deal, Raphael was trying to convince you to take?"

Wyll said: "He claimed he could help with the Dogai. Said there was a whole conspiracy behind it, neither you nor Zariel were aware of. In exchange, I was supposed to deliver a card to some nobleman during the next masquerade, I have to attend."

"Oh, really? A conspiracy, that my mistress, Zariel and I were completely blindsided too, yet you happened to know about it and you conveniently chose not to tell us." Mizora stepped closer. "I am suspecting you of two things, Raphael. Either, you have conveniently forgotten the gruesome faith, my mistress, Zariel, reserves for traitors, or you are an even worse liar than I assumed."

She smiled and her voice gained an almost playful note as she stepped back and said: "So, how about we make it a little game? We both like games, don't we, devilkin? That way, your words actually have to hold some weight."

She raised a finger and cited: "Clause 75, Section A) An additional deal is defined as a smaller contract within the main contract between the soulbearer and soulbinder. Said additional deal must not exceed or contradict the demands of the main contract. Section B) An additional contract must have listed a clear goal and cost immediately."

Bringing her fingers together in what seemed to be a blossom or triangle, Mizora gestured downwards and under a roar of hellfire, an empty parchment appeared. The Cambion smirked as she stared at Raphael and said: "Go on. If that deal of yours was such a beneficial, little thing, craft it as an additional deal right here, right now."

Raphael’s lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile as he turned to face Mizora, the flickering hellfire in his eyes mirroring the glow of her entrance. He let out a soft, amused chuckle, raising a brow in exaggerated surprise. Though he recognized her cunning and ability, Raphael viewed her as more of a rival. Her tactics, while effective, lacked the finesse that Raphael believed separated him from the likes of her.

"Ah, Mizora, always a pleasure," he purred, his tone laced with mock courtesy. "I was wondering when you'd make your grand entrance. After all, why let your little pet play unsupervised for too long? One might think you were losing your touch." His gaze flicked briefly to Wyll before returning to the fiery devil before him, his grin widening. "But then again, you do have a flair for theatrics, don’t you?"

Raphael stepped closer, the scent of sulfur and cherries thickening as he moved into Mizora's space, unphased by her simmering fury. "We were merely discussing a mutually beneficial arrangement, though I must say, your timing is impeccable." He tilted his head, studying her with a mix of curiosity and amusement. "So, have you come to protect your investment? Or are you here to remind us who truly holds the leash?"

He savoured the tension hanging in the air before adding with a sly grin, "But tell me, Mizora—are you here to play the jealous overseer, or do you intend to join? I’m sure Wyll would appreciate your guidance in matters like these. And who knows? Maybe we can all walk away with something... satisfying." His voice lingered on the last word.

[shimmerbeasts]

Wyll. Of course, it had to be him. That wretched, insufferable goody-two-shoes with his princely optimism and nauseating moral high ground. Predictable as sunrise, spouting the same saccharine drivel she could recite in her sleep. And yet, somehow, his predictability didn’t make him any less grating. No, it only added to the irritation, like a broken lyre string plucked endlessly out of tune. Mizora clicked her tongue sharply against her teeth, her glare slicing toward Wyll with the kind of venom that would wither even the most stalwart soul — if only it could. Frustration boiled in her chest, threatening to spill over. She had been outmatched, captured, subjected to the humiliation of a mindflayer forcing a worm through her eye. Her powers, once formidable, were now a shadow of themselves, her connection to the infernal plane cruelly severed. She was a devil, a prized jewel of Zariel’s inner circle, reduced to this pathetic, mortal-like state. And this self-righteous fool had the audacity to tell her to "make the best of it"? By all the Nine Hells, she could hardly decide if she wanted to scream, incinerate him, or both. Oh she could make the best out of it. She could make the best out of RIPPING THE SKIN OUT OF HIS BONES. Mizora closed her eyes, fighting the overwhelming urge to lunge at him and claw that one good eye right out of its socket. Her nails twitched at her sides as she inhaled deeply, pulling the simmering rage back down her throat. She needed him, after all. She needed all of them-this pathetic, bumbling gaggle of fools who could barely function without tripping over their ownincompetence. It was infuriating. It was humiliating. But it was necessary. With painstaking effort, she pieced her carefully crafted mask of civility back together. When she opened her eyes again, there was a sharp, steely smile on her face, as warm and reassuring as a blade poised for a killing strike. "Yes, we absolutely should make the best of it," Mizora purred, in mocking agreement. But as she turned her head, the smile crumbled in an instant, her voice dropping into a cold, clipped tone. "And whatever happens next, don't let that noble little head of yours get any funny ideas. Your contract? Still ironclad. Don't forget it."

Past experience compelled Wyll to take at least a half-step backwards as he saw Mizora's claws twitch. Somewhere in his mind, he half prepared for a sudden strike to the face. Always a dance of danger with her. Just because his patron's powers had been greatly diminished, did not mean that she could be treated as a harmless house cat. After all, a Cambion had more than just powers, making them so dangerous. Their shrewdness was another strength.

Her gaze had not lost any of the viciousness, Wyll had learned to fear. Yet even he could tell that it did not carry the same dread he was used to. No doubt that had been a magical quality of her gaze. He still found himself taking another half-step back. He waited with bated breath as he could practically feel Mizora wrestle her infernal instincts back under control. He would not mind facing that wrath if it meant the others in the camp had some peace. Mizora was his responsibility. She was his patron and he had, in a way, brought her into the life of his new friends.

"I was trying to be nice."

Wyll put the bowl with warm rabbit stew in front of her. He couldn't even believe that he was trying to soothe Mizora's agitated mindset. However, wasn't that what a good dog did for its owner? Ugh. He really hated having to think in these terms.

"Look, I get you're mad and that this change is a lot to digest", Wyll said, "I know how that feels. I was in a similar position when I was exiled. I understand you are not too fond of changes. We all know what the outcome of our predicament could be. Believe me, none of us want it. You are not alone in this case. And hey, that tadpole may have weakened both of us, but it has not destroyed our personality yet. You are shrewd. Use that."

His healthy, reddish devil eye narrowed back at Mizora as he listened to her clipped and cold tone. His lips formed a thin line as Wyll replied: "I am many things but stupid is not one of them. I am not gonna try breaking the pact. I know you. Any loopholes, you long covered up, before you ever spoke to me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I am gonna get my own dinner."

@dev1lsadvocate cont. from here.

[shimmerbeasts]

Mizora paced in sharp, heavy strides, the click of her claws echoing through the room as she struggled to find the right words. Hours had passed with her seated before the blank parchment, yet no clever sentence, no silver-tongued excuse, would come to her. If it were any other creature in the Hells or above, she would have already delivered a string of flattering words and comforting half-truths with ease. But when it comes to Zariel… The thought of writing it down — of actually informing Zariel that she now had an illithid tadpole squirming in her skull — made her swallow dry. It was tempting to abandon the idea altogether, but she knew better. Zariel would find out. She always did. And when she did, what would it make of her, then? A fool at best, a traitor at worst. Neither had a place in Zariel’s circles, and Mizora had learned long ago, through pain and fire, that withholding the truth from Zariel was tantamount to treason — and the punishments for treason were merciless.

The cambion sank back into the chair, the quill trembling in her unsteady grip. Her hands were damp. Sweat slicked her palms, and a prickle of unease crawled up her spine. By Grazzt's cock, was she sweating? Her breath hitched. Could it have already begun?

Ceremorphosis.

The word alone made her stomach twist. Her fingers flew to her face, tracing her sharp cheekbones, sliding up through her hair, desperate for reassurance. No sign of tentacles. Not yet. It shouldn’t even be possible! Yet the mysteries of Netherese magic seemed beyond comprehension — for mortals and immortals alike.

“For your Ladyship Zariel, Lord of the First, Ruler of Avernus…”

No.

She scorches the parchment, reducing it to ashes in her hands. Another sheet is placed on the table, and Mizora dips her quill into the ink pot.

“To Her Most Radiant and Infernal Majesty, Zariel, Supreme Archduchess of Avernus, Scourge of the Nine Hells, Vanquisher of the Unholy, and Keeper of the Eternal Flame…”

No, no, no. Too grand. Zariel hates empty flatteries.

Mizora scorches another parchment, taking a deep breath before dipping her quill into the ink pot once more.

“Mother, I have a problem.”

...Ugh.

Mizora cringed inwardly. Her time surrounded by whimpering mortals must have been affecting her, for her to even consider putting those pathetic words on a paper. Avernus would freeze over before she dared address Zariel so casually — not without facing terrible consequences, of course.

Another scorched parchment, another dip of the quill into the ink pot.

“Your Glorious Eminence Zariel…”

There. A good start. Simple and direct, as the Archdevil herself. Now it was only a matter of keeping it simple and direct. No flourishes. A sudden lump formed in her throat, and her hand instinctively reached for it, as if checking to ensure her necklace wasn’t too tight. It wasn’t.

“It is with utmost humility and boundless reverence that I pen this letter to bring an urgent matter to your attention. I beg your forgiveness in advance for the inadequacy of my words to convey the gravity of the situation…”

No. Not begging. Begging Zariel for anything was as pointless as begging the sun not to rise. Absolutely not.

“It is with utmost humility and boundless reverence that I pen this letter to bring an urgent matter to your attention. During an interaction that I believed to be within my calculated control, I fell victim to an illithid tadpole, now lodged within my mind.”

No. A servant of Zariel was never a victim. To even hint at weakness would be a greater failure than this situation already was. Definitely not.

“It is with utmost humility and boundless reverence that I pen this letter to bring an urgent matter to your attention. While on assignment furthering your will in the mortal realm, I encountered myself in the unforeseen and extraordinary circumstance of having an illithid tadpole lodged within my mind.”

Huh. Not bad.

“I assure you, Your Radiance, that my loyalty remains unwavering, my will unbroken. I have taken every precaution to mitigate the influence of this vile aberration, and thus far, I remain untainted by its transformative process. However, I am acutely aware of the dangers this poses — to both myself and the work I undertake in your name. I would not presume to hide this from you, knowing the consequences of such deceit.”

Wait. Her loyalty being unwavering should go without saying. Stating it too emphatically might suggest it wasn’t as steadfast as it should be. No, that wouldn’t do either.

“I seek not absolution but your divine guidance in navigating this blasphemous affliction. Should you see fit to deliver punishment for my failure to avoid this fate, I will accept it without protest. Yet I humbly request the opportunity to prove that even in this wretched state, I remain a vessel for your will and an instrument of your glory.”

Hm... This feels too timid. Zariel despised cowardice. But being overly assertive might come across as arrogant — a prideful boast, something Zariel saw as a dangerous flaw in her soldiers. Still, Mizora wasn’t a soldier, and that was already enough of a point of frustration for Zariel. Better not push her luck.

Mizora leaned back in the chair, rocking it slightly as her gaze drifted to the ceiling. She should finish the letter, but the truth was, she was on the verge of giving up again. Her hands were still damp with a sweat that refused to stop, now trickling cold and unrelenting across her brow. Was this a fever? Oh, by Mephistopheles' hairy arsehole — what if that wretched illithid in the prism decided she wasn’t worth protecting anymore? A low hiss escaped her as she bit down on her knuckles, stifling the scream of rage bubbling in her throat. Her life, her very existence, now rested in the hands of a cursed squid. The thought made her blood boil, the fury rising so hot she wanted to burn the world around her to ashes — The Emperor included.

Mizora turned back to the letter, her hand shaking as she scribbled the final words. She read it over one last time, her eyes blurred with frustration and dread, before finally sending it — cursing herself for being unable to control the trembling of her hands.

Your Glorious Eminence Zariel

It is with utmost humility and boundless reverence that I pen this letter to bring an urgent matter to your attention. While on assignment furthering your will in the mortal realm, I encountered myself in the unforeseen and extraordinary circumstance of having an illithid tadpole lodged within my mind.

I seek not absolution but your divine guidance in navigating this blasphemous affliction. Should you see fit to deliver punishment for my failure to avoid this fate, I will accept it without protest. Yet I humbly request the opportunity to prove that even in this wretched state, I remain a vessel for your will and an instrument of your glory.

Your devoted servant, eternally bound by the fires of your mercy,

Mizora

Faithful Cambion of the First Circle

The letter could not have been gone for more than a moment or two. Outside of the window, a murder of crows took to the air in a hectic swarm of black wings, flashing claws and loud cawing. They fled the tree they had perched on. People shouted as they tried to keep a hold of their horses' reigns as their mounts shied and bolted, throwing their riders almost off their saddles. Someone's pot over an open fire was thrown off its hinges, splashing half-cooked soup all across the flames and the clothes of the cook. He shouted something and shook his fist in the air.

In Mizora's room, the fireplace, which had previously only had a small fire nourished in its wood, sprang to vivid life. The flames roared louder and louder as they climbed out of their stone confinement. They looped around each other, forming a massive flaming tornado in the middle of the room. Winds dragged at the papers and books. A few of the papers, which had not been secured well enough, got sucked into the flame tornado, where they burned to cinders immediately. Mizora's wings, dress, tail and hair fluttered back and forth in the storm.

In the heart of the fire tornado, a pair of glowing white eyes opened up. They narrowed as they locked onto Mizora. A commanding, clear voice boomed through the room, shattering the glass of the windows: "MIIIIZZZZOOOORRRRRRAAAAAAA!"

The flame tornado combusted in on itself and cloaked the entire room in thick, white smoke. When the air finally cleared, a sleek drow with lean muscles stepped out of the fireplace. Her skin was as white as her hair and her red eyes seemed to constantly shimmer and simmer. She was dressed in simple, practical leather armour with protective gear around her legs and underarms. The only noteworthy aspect of her attire was a long, black cape with red tips, which had been cut down the middle, making it mimic a pair of wings as she moved. One of her crossed arms was holding onto a spear.

"I read your letter", Zariel cut to the point immediately, "Tell me, how can you consider yourself a vessel of my will and glory after you have proven such incompetence? I told you to scout out the cult and figure out what is happening. I told you to stay hidden during this. Yet you could not do that. Right now, you are a danger to yourself and others due to the parasite lodged in your skull. So tell me why I shouldn't end your existence as a precaution? After all, you clearly seem to be of the belief that you still hold a crumb of value to your existence. So enlighten me, Mizora. What is that value?"

[shimmerbeasts]

batting his lashes coquettishly at mizora, scooting closer. "so……. hypotetically speaking… if you could just snatch the soul of anybody at camp… who would it be? who do you think has the tastiest soul?"

She could not help but peer down at Vhaal as he scooted closer to her, batting his lashes as if he wanted to let her in on a big secret. How adorable! One might almost assume that he wanted to come across as just as charming and seductive as her, showing he could be just as manipulative. It was sickeningly sweet and the temptation to rip the bandage from his eyes and break his assumptions of her boiled underneath her skin. Maybe she could indulge in it, just a little, particularly as she heard his question.

Mizora smirked darkly for as far as she was concerned, Vhaal had not just asked which soul was the tastiest. He had asked whom of Wyll's playmates, she would kill and devour last. Staring at the drow with blood-red eyes, her shadow grew behind her until it towered over them both. Several somethings were moving and slithering about at the outskirts of the shadow, long, serpentine necks and sharply cut snouts full of razor-sharp teeth. Once more, growls and pants filled the air, along with the sensation of being watched by more than just one pair of eyes.

"I can hardly say Wyll's soul", Mizora said, "Given that I have been working on shaping himself. His taste is familiar, though, of course, familiarity does not make it any less delicious. As for the others: Well, it seems you all are so trapped in your own little problems and vices. Every one of you could make for a satisfying meal. Whether that be because deep down you are still a terrified little boy, a girl without any orientation, or you have something to prove or a broken heart. Though, if we have to go with personal preferences, I would have to say Karlach."

"I still believe that one day, she will return to Avernus and into her mistress, Zariel's embrace. But I won't pretend that I had never entertained the thought of getting a taste of her soul. Someone, having been in Avernus, yet without being a lemure, experiences a special kind of trauma. They are never the same after. And though Karlach might try to hide behind an upbeat and lively attitude, her darkness, past traumas and that fear of death lace her soul like a stream of spicy oil. It is positively delectable, just thinking about it."

[shimmerbeasts]

TEMPTING – VERY TEMPTING. Such an offer, but this one has slipped through her claws once before, and how others had been punished for such bold and daring actions to try and read between the lines. That was her job, her contracts were ironclad and always tilted the scales into her favor, always. She cannot be cheated, she cannot be tricked, she cannot be robbed of what she is owed and this one, well let’s just say that her interest was there and that was free for the time being, everything else afterwards .. well that was going to become costly and this little mortal was already within serious debt, no point in adding to the collector and having countless fight all over the pieces once it comes time to carve her up. “Is this a bad time darling, do you need another forty winks to get some beauty sleep.” A hand on her chest and a coy smile upon her lips, false flattery and mocking words aplenty, but it is the nature of such dealings.  She already had her claws in many little pets within the land, why on earth would she want for anymore than what she had, but then again.  A deal was a deal and a contract was almost mouth watering to cut out her useless debtors and merely go right to the person causing her so much trouble and offer them, well what everyone wants, the deal of a lifetime.  No tricks, no little back doors, just a simple deal, what she wants, in exchange for what she wants, it was truly so simple. She had the blade, a hero, a legend within the land, but how he fights and denies, time and time again, how this ought to work. “I am here, to see if you wish for more from me, your sample, is it not to your liking, and that is nothing compared to what you can have, if you only ask for it.”

"Ha ha ha", Jinx called out, feigning amusement at the joke, "I cannot contain my laughter. Ha ha ha."

Her mismatched eyes drifted over towards Mizora's large, bat-like wings. Bats had hollow bones. It allowed them to fly. They also were particularly fragile and the leathery skin, too, was something, which ought not be damaged. Jinx idly wondered whether or not Mizora would be robbed of the power of flight if she yanked just hard enough, twisted her bones by a joint and caused it to snap. Or perhaps she should take out her dagger and cut into the leathery skin that way.

The thoughts felt good like dipping your bare feet into the warm waters of a boiling spring. They coaxed a sly smile out of Jinx's lips and her tail flicked from one side to the next. Still, she forced the contemplation down. As much as she wanted to do it - and that desire burned to the point her muscles cramped -, she knew it would jeopardise Wyll's safety and hers. The tiefling could not let that happen.

Hearing Mizora ask her what she wanted, if she wanted more power, the warlock began to pace back and forth like a displacer beast in a cage, large tentacles flicking back and forth. Powder peered after her, the familiar's tail matching her tail's slow curls and flicks. Jinx closed her fingers around her chin as she thought long and hard. Finally, she stopped and looked at Mizora.

"Here is the kicker", Jinx admitted, "I am not really after more power, so I really do not know how to ask for what I want. I am more invested in what's going on in here." She tapped a clawed finger against her temple. "Not the tadpole, mind yah! I am more interested in the whole other stuff. All these images and intrusive thoughts... I do not wanna get rid of them. But I do wanna understand them better. I think in the past, I specifically chose to become a ranger to understand what goes on in my head, but it didn't lead to the result, I wanted. Hunting game in the woods and even hunting people is different than the way people are, well, diabolical. Soooo, do you think you can help me on that front? Or is that out of a devil's skill book?"

@fallesto cont. from here.

[shimmerbeasts]

IT IS OFFICIAL! Warlocks are kittens now and they will get adopted by the fiendish horrors whether they want it or not.

Wyll, Zevlor, fucking run!