#mother of the goddess dormitory

[funny-anime-face-world]

Mother of the Goddess` Dormitory (2021) S01 E09 · Sutea Reflects on the Kotatsu - Koushi Tackles Spring Cleaning

[fuckyeahanimebirthdays]

Frey (Megami-ryou no Ryoubo-kun.)  » December 12

[faline-cat444]

The Spellblades anime already helped me learn that "Michela" is pronounced more like Michelle with an A at the end than "Mikayla" and now I started thinking the McFarlane girl's voice was sounding a little too familiar.A bit understandable as to why...Turns out her other most "major" role where her voice actor's career currently has was Koushi from Mother of the Goddess' Dormitory.

Misuzu Yamada is also voicing a character from Hero Classroom which is a property I am also somewhat familiar to on the manga scene and might have picked up some French volumes to but the anime only started up last week.Might need to look into it and see how similar or straying the vocal talent range is.Especially with how different Earnest looks alongside the other two.

Can't say either of them have become an ideal point of "linkage" yet but the genres have definitely intersected since we have a harem series(That's technically a slice-of-life/real world school-based setting),a magic school series,and a magic school series that has harem elements

[sencrose]

— FALLING SHORT OF HEAVEN

pairing: sylvain jose gautier x f!reader

tags: dubcon (coercion), sacrilege, religious guilt, virginity loss (reader), semi-public sex, corruption kink (if you squint), overstim, multiple orgasms, fingering, creampie, pet names (babe, baby, angel), reverential capitalization, takes place during academy days and reader/sylvain (20) are a similar age

wc: 5.7k (do NOT look at me)

summary: Garreg Mach's most infamous skirt chaser seems to have a change of heart. First item on the list: getting closer to the Goddess, and maybe you in the process.

a/n: title from the ashe + catherine paralogue lol. happy belated 5th anniversary to fe3h! and big big thank you to @blueparadis for beta reading this for me! <3 divider by @/adornedwithlight

crossposted to ao3

The cathedral has become a second home to you, an escape from the confines of a stuffy dormitory.

Nothing takes your breath away more than the sight of the moon glowing through the stained glass windows, painting the statue of the Goddess in a soft, holy light. Praying feels much more intimate as if your voice is louder, closer to reaching Her ears. Even if you don’t have much to pray about, you occasionally come here to bask in the calming silence, something you’re unable to experience elsewhere in the monastery. Today is one of those days, admiring the chilly embrace of the ethereal moon.

You’re too lost in thought to notice the steps against the porcelain tile getting closer.

“Oh sorry, didn’t realize someone was here,” a voice echoes throughout the cathedral.

You turn and recognize him, not that you’ve been properly introduced. You’ve been told to be cautious of him, by fellow students and members of the church alike. Garreg Mach’s most infamous flirt in the flesh. And though you’ve been warned, you’re a follower of Seiros first and foremost, quick to welcome anyone who shows interest in the church.

“Oh, you’re fine,” you reply.

“Sylvain, by the way,” he introduces himself, hand against his chest. 

You quietly offer your name back.

“You mind if I sit next to you?” he asks, and you look at him, hesitantly. The cathedral is empty save for the two of you, and there are plenty of other seats he could take.

“S-sure,” you reply, figuring he’ll only be here a moment before leaving.

“I’m kind of new to this whole thing,” he comments before sitting down next to you, a bit too close for comfort.

You scoot a couple of inches away, uncomfortable by the lack of distance. “New? To what?”

“Praying,” he responds.

“We all start somewhere,” you reassure him.

“You think you could help me?”

“Help?” you repeat.

“Yeah,” he replies nonchalantly.

“How?”

“Maybe guide me through it.”

“Guide?” you repeat again, sounding like an incredulous parrot.

“Yeah. You know, like how am I supposed to keep my hands? Am I supposed to kneel? Do I speak out loud or keep it to myself? Stuff like that.”

It feels ridiculous. Even if he isn’t a follower of the church, you’d figured he’d at least be aware. You know he’s from Faerghus, whose royal family has always held ties to Seiros. Mercedes is in the same house as him, and you’ve seen her come plenty of times to pray. But he looks at you with a desire for an answer in his eyes, and who are you to deny someone a connection to the Goddess?

“You just press your hands together. You don’t need to kneel and you don’t have to speak out loud if you don’t want to,” you respond, answering each and every one of his questions succinctly.

Sylvain intertwines his fingers together, looking over at you to see if you’ll correct him. You don’t.

“Do you think you can hold on to them while I pray?” he asks gently, “I think my words will get closer to the Goddess if you do.”

You look at him with suspicion, the way a mother looks at a child attempting to weasel themself out of trouble.

It seems like he notices your wary expression, softening his features and voice to ask, “Please?”

It catches you by surprise, making your heart skip a beat when you look at the ginger strands that frame his face, how the moonlight illuminates his soft, hazel eyes.

Sure, he has a reputation as a skirt chaser, but maybe he’s had a change of faith. Why else would he come to the cathedral at the witching hour, when nobody else is around?

So you silently wrap your hands around his, and he closes his eyes to pray. His hands are warm, the opposite of what you were expecting from someone raised by the cold winds that haunt Faerghus. While his eyes are closed, you can’t help but let your eyes wander in the silence. The sliver of his arms that peek over his cuffs, toned muscles from his work in the training grounds. Your eyes trace up his sleeve, then trace down the trail of undone buttons of his dress shirt and feel heat rushing in droves to your face when you see his bare chest. There’s no way he’s abiding by the dress code.

When his eyes open, your gaze darts to the floor, hoping to extinguish any suspicion. Carefully, you let go of his hands, pulling them away as if you just put down a set of fine china on top of a tightrope.

“Wanna know what I prayed for?” he asks, pressing his hands on to the bench and turning his body towards you. 

“It really isn’t any of my concern.”

“You sure?”

“Y-yeah.”

He shrugs before standing up from his seat to leave. “Suit yourself, but I think it’d be of interest to you.”

– 

Another night alone in the cathedral, as is your routine, or so you think.

“Is this seat taken?” Once again, Sylvain sneaks up without you noticing his presence.

“No, go ahead.” You gesture to the spot next to you.

You half expect him to clasp his hands together, pray in silence, and be on his merry way, like any other worshiper. But that’s not how Sylvain works.

“I just wanted to thank you,” he says, sitting down on the pew. The distance isn’t as close as last time, as if he’s conscious of the imaginary boundary you’ve set down between the two of you.

“Thank me for what?” you ask, furrowing a brow.

“For helping me last time,” he replies.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It was nothing.”

“No, seriously, it means a lot.” He scoots an inch closer to you. “I really do feel closer to the Goddess now.”

The unexpected praise lights a fire in your face, and you hope he doesn’t notice how flustered you are. “W-Well, I’m glad I was able to help.”

“I’d like to return the favor, if you’ll let me,” he says, giving you a charming wink. 

You hope you’re not reading too deeply into this. Your voice shakes like a leaf, hoping there isn’t some hidden implication behind his words. “R-return the favor?”

“Here.”

You hesitate when he holds his hands out in front of you.

“Come on, don’t be shy,” he says, nudging his shoulder as a gesture to put your hands in his.

Slowly, you bring your hands over to him, hovering over his. You can’t bring yourself to close the distance so he does it for you, large calloused fingers wrapping around yours. They’re still warm, maybe even warmer than before, on the cusp of consuming you whole. His thumbs rub circles into your skin, delicately, as if he’s worshiping you and the Goddess in tandem.

When you look up at him, you notice his eyes are closed, and you reflexively close yours as well. It’s hard to concentrate on praying, having someone other than the Goddess embrace you. It’s far too distracting. You dare not open your eyes, lest you catch another glance of his chest, of toned muscles, of his hands enveloping yours. Instead, the thought of him plagues you, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut harder, a ritual to snuff out all the wicked thoughts, though it does nothing to help. 

You shouldn’t be thinking of him this way, but it’s hard. So you pray, pray with all your might and ask Her what to do – what to do about the fuzzy feeling that consumes you when you think of his hands touching yours, what to do when his smile appears in your head, and takes your breath away? With all your heart, you hope She’s listening, that She can smite away all your worries and confusion with a wave of Her righteous hand. 

When he lets go, you open your eyes and look up towards him, a kind smile painted on his face.

“I hope that helped you as much as it helped me,” he says.

“Y-yeah,” you mumble, squirming in your seat, unable to meet his eyes. It’s all you’re able to get out. You’re sure he hasn’t helped you at all, just made the thoughts swirling through your head grow in intensity, a small gust of wind tumbling into a tornado.

He takes you by surprise, bringing you in for a embrace. Large arms wrap around you and bring your bodies together. Your hands seize, not knowing what to do, before hugging him back. Even though you don’t press any further, you feel his toned physique under the thin layer of his cotton shirt, and an unfamiliar sensation in your stomach. Your eyes find the statue of the Goddess staring down at the two of you, emotionless and unfeeling. Guilt and fear echo throughout your body like a struck bell. 

As if he’s aware of your internal struggle, Sylvain’s hand gently pats your back, delicately tracing down your spine, coming back up before his touch lingers somewhere it shouldn’t. 

“Goddess be with you,” he whispers into your ear before letting go.

You’re not sure you want to feel Her presence right now.

“Goddess be with you,” you murmur back.

–

Your visits to the cathedral have become more frequent, though night time is still your favorite time to stop by. Confusion could be used to describe your state of mind these days. You’ve only met Sylvain in short, fleeting encounters, but that doesn’t stop him from haunting your every waking moment. It doesn’t stop you from thinking about his intoxicating embrace, from wondering if he’s willing to give you another. 

But you’re dedicated to the Goddess, you shouldn’t be having these thoughts about a man, much less a man with Sylvain’s reputation. 

You’d like some guidance, an answer, but so far you’re left empty handed. Yet another part of you wants, hopes a certain someone will show-

“Here again?” Sylvain’s familiar voice rings throughout the room, and your heart jumps, just a little.

“Yes. I’m here most nights.”

“Maybe I should stop by more often.”

You don’t know how to respond, but your body does – a syrupy warmth pooling in your stomach, air catching in your lungs. You take a moment to swat away the feeling, inhaling deeply to recompose yourself. 

‘I think the Goddess would be fond of that.” You don’t want to say the silent part out loud. A portion of your words is crossed out in your head.

“I think I’ve grown fond of something myself.”

And the feeling is back, tenfold. Anticipation courses through your veins, and you hope the answer in your head matches the one on the tip of his tongue.

“Pray tell, Sylvain.”

“She’s right here.”

He kisses you gently, and your nerves are set ablaze. Before you can bask in the softness of his lips, it’s gone. Just like that, it disappears in the blink of an eye and makes you wonder if it even happened. You’re rendered speechless, eyes darting side to side, unable to meet Sylvain’s gaze. 

“Is something wrong?” he asks, eyes widening in concern. Even when he’s concerned he looks as handsome as ever. Goddess have mercy.

Your eyes flit towards the statue of the Goddess, Her silent and smothering gaze, but Sylvain’s eyes stay locked on you. 

“N-no.”

“Then shall we pray?” he asks, as if he didn’t just kiss you, didn’t tip your world onto its side. 

“S-sure.”

He holds his hands out again. This time you don’t hesitate to place yours inside, welcoming his comforting grasp, a shelter from the guilt that threatens to swallow you whole.

–

The Goddess was watching. The thought of Her seeing you so weak to your desires makes you sick.

But kisses are a chaste thing, aren’t they? Surely, She wouldn’t fret over a soft touch of lips. With that, the night devolves into an endless cycle of thoughts – rationalizing Sylvain’s actions and the way they make you feel, and the spiral of shame when you realize you committed these acts in front of the Goddess, in one of Her holiest places, no less. Rinse and repeat.

You hate the guilt that creeps up in your chest, nesting a ball in your throat, but the desire kindling in your stomach grows when you think about him.

You want it again – to feel his soft lips against yours, just for a moment longer. If he had a little more time, what would he do? Would he wrap his arms around you in a romantic embrace, like the ones you’ve only seen on stage during a Mittlefrank Opera? Would he kiss you deeper, stroking your jaw and holding your chin for leverage? Would you allow his hand to wander, tracing the curve of your waist, lower, lower–

The thought of him touching you so sinfully sends a chill down your spine and a heat to your core, but the aching need between your legs only intensifies as your thoughts grow and fester into something beyond your control. 

You squeeze a pillow between your thighs, because while you’re desperate to quell the desire in your core, you’re not sure you hold the courage to bring your hand any lower. Slowly, you roll your hips into it, wishing it was something else. Maybe you’d be able to face Sylvain properly, sit in his lap nice and pretty until he grabs your thighs and encourages you to push yourself harder into him.

What kind of praise would he give you if you were to give him a taste of the forbidden? If his hands unbuckled his slacks, another layer of him gone, and you were one step closer to being skin to skin. What would it feel like if his lips were dangerously close to your ear, whispering his secret desires, breath so close the warmth of it grazes your skin? Your pace amplifies at the thought, desperation ladled in every stroke. 

You feel something growing, a tension close to breaking, your muscles tightening in preparation for the unknown. Your thoughts go wild, thinking of rolling your hips against his, just two thin layers of fabric apart so you can still consider yourself to be in the Goddess’ good graces. It’s too much, just thinking of his large hands running through your hair, grasping your head to bring him closer into you with a kiss that’s far more passionate than what he gave you earlier tonight. Even in your fantasies, you can’t think of crossing the line, but that’s okay. This is enough – or so you tell yourself.

With a dizzying pace, something unfamiliar and electrifying washes over you, and for once, you're chanting a name that doesn’t belong to the Goddess. 

When the sensation fizzles out, you lie in your bed out of breath, staring at the roof of your room. The color of the wooden ceilings remind you of the pew you sit in every day. 

She’s always watching. You’re foolish to think otherwise. 

–

These days, the cathedral feels like home more so than your dormitory. It can be quantified in the countless hours you’ve spent in the pews, persevering through the crowds, hoping they are ignorant to your plight. You pray and pray, in search of an answer, in search of absolution. But even with all your waking hours spent in the cathedral, all you are left with are uncertain feelings whirling in your chest, no closer to an answer than when you started.

The room eventually empties, attendants leaving as the sun sets and the moon takes its place in the sky. Yet you remain. 

“I heard you’ve been spending a lot of time here lately,” Sylvain announces his entrance, further back than he usually would.

You turn around to confirm his presence. And there he is, the moonlight gently caressing his form as if he’s worthy of worship as well.

“And how do you know that?” you ask.

“I have my sources,” he says, sitting down to take his usual spot next to you, “something on your mind?”

“Y-yeah,” you’re barely able to choke out, “I guess you could say that.”

“Well, let it out.” Sylvain stretches, splaying his arms across the bench. His right arm wraps around your shoulder, brings you in much closer to him than you’re used to. His hand brushes against the side of your neck and buries your face in the crook of his neck. The scent of him overwhelms you. Something rich, full, something you don’t recognize. You figure it’s something only the nobility can get their hands on. It’s the first time you’ve gotten a whiff and you’re already intoxicated with him. Merciful Seiros, save you.

“I-I’m not sure if it’s something I can say out loud,” you confess, voice in a hushed whisper, “not here.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve been struggling with something too.”

“R-really?”

“Yup,” he states matter-of-factly, popping the last letter. He lets it hang in the silence, and curiosity gets the better of you.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Where do I start?” he retorts, pausing before continuing. “See, there’s this cute girl I’ve been seeing. Right here in this very cathedral.”

His voice vibrates through your body, a gentle hum.

“The thing is, I’m not sure she likes me back. And Goddess,” he sighs, moving a bit closer to you until your thighs touch,“I want her to like me back.”

When he looks at you like you hold the entire world in your hands, your breath hitches.

His eyes shift towards you, a knowing look. There’s no way he doesn’t notice the effect he has on you, how you breathe so carefully as to keep all your feelings inside, how you can’t meet his gaze for too long before you feel that familiar creeping heat rise up your cheeks.

“Do you think the Goddess is willing to answer my prayers?” he asks, his hand inching towards yours before eclipsing it completely. You attempt to look into his eyes, find any sign of dishonesty, but you find nothing. Even if he was dishonest, you’re not sure you could resist him.

“I’d like to think so,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.

And in a rush, his lips find yours again. It’s better than you imagined, there’s so many details you miss when you don’t have the experience to go off of. The hypnotic smell of him, the warmth of his hand touching your neck, how his breath dances and mingles with yours.

When his lips leave yours, something in you breaks. The dam holding back your desire crumbles as you take the initiative to kiss him back, desperate to keep him in the now, to not lose him so soon like the last time. Sylvain doesn’t seem to have any objections, even when your hand tugs on his shirt to bring him closer.

“Hey, hey, I’m right here. There’s no rush,” he reassures you, his hand scratching the back of your head. He pats his lap. “C’mere.”

You maneuver your legs on top of his and sit down. Something presses against you and catches you by surprise. This isn’t a dream, it’s real. The guilt strikes you again, and you swear you can feel the Goddess’ eyes burning a hole into your back. 

But Sylvain brings you back to earth, back to him, lips gentle enough to melt all your worries. A heat grows in your core, and your hips buck into his, desperate for release. When you let out a small whimper, Sylvain’s tongue slips in to find yours. His tongue guides yours, showing you how to follow his rhythm, passionate and slow. When you break from each other, a gossamer of saliva connects you both, glistening in the dim light.

Before you have the chance to take in the moment, he’s already reaching to unfasten his belt and his slacks, without an ounce of shame. You however, still hold a bit of hesitation in your heart. 

“Um, Sylvain.”

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Sylvain adjusts himself so that the fabric of his slacks covers his boxers, though he does a poor job of it. 

“N-no, it’s not that I don’t want to,” you mutter, “it’s just that I haven’t done anything like this before.” 

The confession seems to light a fire in Sylvain’s eyes. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” he whispers, kissing the shell of your ear before continuing, “make you feel real good.”

“You’re really lucky to have me as your first,” he tells you between kisses, “some of these guys are real jerks. Don’t know what to do with a lady.” His hand flips the hem of your skirt and travels up your legs.

“You gotta build up to it, you know?” he asks, his hand ghosting your thigh and you gasp at the sensation.

You don’t, but you’re sure you’ll learn soon enough.

His hand plays with the hem of your underwear, and the anticipation is killing you. 

“No shorts? Were you hoping something would happen tonight?” he asks, a devious grin painted on his face.

“N-No, I just-” you can’t bring yourself to explain.

“You’re cute.” He brings you in for another kiss, soft, gentle. “Doing all this just for me?”

If you couldn’t string words together before, the rope’s been set ablaze now. His fingers find the growing wet patch on your underwear, carefully tracing its shape. He’s so close to giving you what you want, you can’t help but whine.

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” he remarks, half in disbelief, half in amazement, “wonder what you’ll sound like when I start.”

His fingers find your clit and your body collapses into him just from the contact. It’s nothing like the guilt-ridden pillow-humping session you had the other night. Even though he’s barely moving, drawing slow, lazy shapes around the bud, it has you moaning so loud it echoes throughout the cathedral. 

“Sensitive little thing, aren’t you?”

All you can do is nod and squeeze your eyes shut from the shame.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he comments while slowly increasing his speed, “I think it’s a blessing, really.”

Your body writhes at the change in pace, and you don’t know what to do. The only thing on your mind is bringing yourself to embrace him as he brings you to the cusp of pleasure, better than you could have ever given yourself. 

“S-Sylvain, I think I’m-” Even in your pleasure-drunk haze, you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

“Let it all out for me angel,” he coos, littering your neck in kisses as he focuses on getting you there.

So you do, chanting his name reverently as you rapidly approach your climax, pleasure melting away your senses and fraying your nerves. The intensity is nothing like you’ve felt before, and you’re in disbelief at how he’s able to elicit such a reaction out of you, something you weren’t even able to find for yourself. It crashes into you in waves, your body trembling as it rushes through you, and Sylvain slowly dials it back down until your moans diminish into hushed pants.

“Felt good, right?” he asks, giving you a gentle peck on the lips.

You give him a shy nod.

“You wanna know what would feel better?”

You’re getting greedy, desperate to see what new heights Sylvain can take you, and you give him yet another shy nod.

His finger presses against your hole and you can’t bring yourself to look. While the sensation is new and strange, it’s not completely unwelcome. It takes your breath away when he slips it in further with no resistance from the arousal he coaxed out of you.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he coos, kissing your neck as he starts slowly dragging his finger in and out of you. A strange feeling builds as he explores your insides until he finds a home in a particular spot where you’re sensitive. You can’t hold your voice back, soft cries spilling like a waterfall as he presses into it again and again, just to hear you fall apart for him.

Apparently, he thinks this isn’t enough, slipping another finger in with ease and you gasp at the fullness. His other hand finds your clit again, massaging circles into it. You grip his shirt harder as that tension in your stomach starts to build and build. Something’s coming, something far more intense than what he’s already given you. Your muscles tighten in anticipation of it, and Sylvain pushes his fingers in harder as soon as he feels it. 

“Sylvain, Sylvain, please,” you whine between labored breaths, unsure what else you’re supposed to say. 

“Don’t worry, I’m right here,” he says in a placating tone that makes you melt as soon as it hits your ears, “cum for me, baby.”

The filth he speaks is what sends you over the edge, walls fluttering uncontrollably against his fingers as he continues fucking you through it, keeping his pace instead of showing any signs of stopping. 

“S-Sylvain wait, I just-” You stop yourself short of saying it, still too ashamed of the word, even though you’ve experienced it twice at his hands.

“Yeah? You can say it, I know you can.”

“Say what?” you whine the last word when his fingers press somewhere deep inside you. 

“Tell me how I made you cum.” The candidness of his words strikes you like a whip. 

“I-I don’t think I can,” you whimper.

“Then I’ll keep making you cum ‘til you can say it.”

It’s a side of him you haven’t seen before; determination clouding his eyes, fingers still pistoning inside you to prove his point. 

Sylvain is consistent to say the least. His pace doesn’t falter, both around your clit and your hole. Soon enough you sense the tell-tale signs of a climax, something you’ve quickly become accustomed to despite your inexperience – muscles taut around his fingers, quickening breaths, and a coil that is so, so, close to snapping. 

It happens so fast, ecstasy reverberating throughout your body before going into uncharted territory. Through this, you learn something new – how too many climaxes too close together can wring out your muscles, overstimulation delivering you from pleasure straight into pain. You wince when Sylvain still shows no sign of stopping, much less slowing down. 

“W-wait, Sylvain, please,”

“Then say it,” he commands, teasing lilt as he holds your body hostage. 

Even though your body begs for a break, you can’t bring yourself to say it. He doesn’t seem anywhere close to stopping, starting the cycle over again with constant stimulation to your clit, steadily fingering your pussy. Your clit aches, sensitive and worn out from your previous orgasms. Even so, Sylvain can coax another reaction out of you. Your legs tense so much it hurts, and if Sylvain is a man of his word, you don’t think you can handle more of this. With that, you wave the white flag. 

“Sylvain, I’m cumming, I’m cumming-” you cry, words spoken both from pleasure and fear of the pain to come. 

“See? That’s all you needed to say, baby,” he coos, sending you again over the edge. It feels good and intense for a split second before the numbing ache rolls in and takes its place. All you can afford is screaming his name into his jacket, doing your best to muffle your voice. Finally, you’re afforded respite when his fingers pull away from you. 

“You feeling ok?” he asks, back to the kind and comforting voice you’re used to hearing in the pews. 

“Y-Yeah.”

“You ready for some more?”

“More?”

Sylvain shuffles around the fabric of his slacks until-

Oh.

His cock springs free from his boxers, and it’s a sight to behold. Despite it being your first, you think it’s a respectable size, pretty with the way it flushes at the tip. Thinking about it entering you is overwhelming, considering the reaction you had with just his fingers. 

Even still, this is a step too far. You can reason your way out of the events of tonight, that you haven’t given him something sacred on a technicality. You might have done everything in between, but you’d like to think that you haven’t crossed any lines. This… This would be crossing the line, and there’s no going back.

“Sylvain, I-I’m not so sure about this anymore,” you mumble, a twang of guilt hitting you once again. No matter how many times you feel it, it never gets easier. 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” he says with a casual tone that throws you off guard, the way someone might suggest a day of shopping in the town.

“I don’t know…” You can’t look at him, not wanting to see the disappointment written on his face.

“I made you feel good, don’t you think you should return the favor?” he asks, a hint of bite in his voice.

That gets your attention.

“No, I mean, it’s just that-” you stumble over your words.

“You can trust me with this, I swear.”

The silence shared between the two of you is dense and heavy, a cloud of smoke you could choke on. You turn around and look at the statue again, hoping to find guidance from Her, but you find nothing. Not Her presence, not an answer. Distant and apathetic to your turmoil.

But Sylvain sits under you, guidance and presence real and tangible. He might even be the answer, with his eyes full of life and warmth when you turn back to look at him.

For the third time this evening, you give him a shy nod, another first.

He kisses you softly on the cheek before whispering, “you won’t regret this, babe.”

His cock gently presses and glides against your folds, collecting the arousal he’s coaxed out of you. You gasp at the new sensation, warm and wet length prodding at your hole. 

“You ready?”

You nod again. With that, he slowly pushes himself inside of you, savoring the taste of your tight cunt. You’re sure he’s nowhere close to bottoming out, but the way he’s already stretching you out is enough to make you whine.

“S-Sylvain, it’s too much.”

“Don’t worry, we can take it slow,” he says, and he speaks the truth. He takes his time, patient with every inch he pushes into you, carefully taking in your expressions and adjusting as needed. Before you know it, you feel unbelievably full. “See? It’s all in.”

You look down, unable to tear your eyes away from the point where your bodies connect. 

“I’m gonna move now, ok?”

His voice grabs your attention as you look back at him, soft smile there to welcome you.

“Ok,” you mutter.

Even though he keeps his promise to go slow, the first stroke is overwhelming – the way you can feel him drag against your walls, how that warm feeling returns to your stomach once again. You watch his cock go in and out of you, a growing amount of slick arousal painting his length with each pass. 

“You’re really into this, aren’t you?” he remarks. It sends a frenzy of blood and heat to your face, embarrassment painting your expression. 

“N-no, it’s not like that.”

“That’s not what your body’s saying.”

You don’t have an answer for that.

Once you’re accustomed to his languid pace, Sylvain tests the waters by gradually increasing his speed. One hand wraps around your waist, another pressing against your sensitive clit. As soon as he touches it, it’s like electricity runs through your body, rushing through to find an escape. He rolls the bud in between his fingers and you squeal at the sensation, your walls tightening around his cock as he does so. 

“You like that?” he asks, hushed into your ear. 

You can’t mutter an answer, he doesn’t let you. His fingers teasingly pinch your clit to get another moan out of you.

“C’mon babe, you can be honest with me.”

“It f-feels good,” you’re barely able to mutter out. 

From there, Sylvain pulls all the stops. His cock reaches a dizzying speed, the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the cathedral and ringing in your ears. If that wasn’t enough, his fingers draw tight circles around your clit until all you’re able to let out are babbling breaths and choked moans. 

The tension you’ve become well-acquainted with builds in your stomach, overwhelming with its intensity. To think, there’s still something he can teach you about your own body. It snowballs so quickly, your breaths becoming shallower as you feel yourself tumbling towards another climax. 

“Sylvain, cumming, cumming again,” you whine into his neck as you grab him for an embrace.

“Cum for me, angel,” he pants, his voice shaky as well. 

With a few more strokes, every muscle in your body tightens as the rush of pleasure overtakes you. It’s different with him fucking you through it, the way your pussy contracts against his cock. You can’t control the lewd noises escaping your lips, the way your nails dig into his back to cope with the intensity. 

It seems like it’s too much for Sylvain as well, as he fucks into you with a desperation you think suits him well, all choked groans and muttered curses. He lets out one loud grunt before digging himself deep into your pussy, hot and sticky ropes of white painting your walls. 

You both attempt to control your breathing as you come down from your respective highs. He removes himself from you, and the feeling of something wet seeping out of you makes you wince. Sylvain kisses your lips again, soft and fleeting. 

It’s beyond your control. You look back even though you know you shouldn’t, your eyes watering when you look up at the statue of the Goddess, and realize the gravity of what you’ve done. Sylvain’s hand presses against the back of your head, and gently guides you to face him.

“I’m sure she’ll forgive you. She’s answered my prayers after all.”

[yumeko2sevilla]

Kanade Tojinomi_ shadow

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ

'Shh.. Come here, follow my lead. I will guide you out of here.'

_Kanade Tojinomi- benelovent shadow

Full Name: Kanade Tojinomi

⤿Kanade (奏): A name of Japanese origin, meaning 'To play music'

⤿Tojinomi (十時のみ): A name of Japanese origin. "十" meaning ten, "時" meaning time, hours, moments. "のみ" meaning delightful, beautiful, plesant.

Japanese: 十時の み 奏

Other Name(s):

↳Kanade-chan_ By Sonomi Hoshiakari (By @/kousaka-ayumu)

↳Little Shadow_ By Tsukuyomi 'Shinonome'

↳Tolerable_ By Alaida Von Stein (@/queen-of-twisted)

↳Kana_ By Minako Sakamaki (@/queen-of-twisted)

↳Mademoiselle Ombre_ By Rook Hunt

↳Little Ink Squid_ Sumīka-chan_ By floyd Leech

↳Sis_ By Hikari Tojinomi

↳Child of the Court_ By Malleus Draconia

Twisted From: Master of the Court_ Evillious Chronicles + Qiqi_ Genshin imapct

Voice Actor(s):

↳Japanese_ Isekaijoucho

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Age: 13 (Appearance Wise)

Gender: Non-Binary (She/Her)

Species: Shadow Entity_ Irregular

Height: 178 cm

Dominant Hand: Right

Birthday: April 9_ Aries

Hair Color: Strawberry Red

Eye Color: Black..?

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Homeland: Japan

Family:

《 ↳ Reiko Tojinomi_ 'Human'_ Mother

↳Unnamed Father_ Human

↳Hikari Tojinomi_ Irregular_ Twin Sister》

Dormitory: Ramshackle_Unofficial

Grade: None

Class: None

Club: Art Club

Favorite Food(s): Mochi, Weird Food Combination

Least Favorite Food(s): None

Talent(s): Weapon Mastery, Observant, Fair Judging, Drawing, Presence Hiding, Sewing

Hobbies: Listening to Music, Reading on Law Books, Drawing, Cooking...?

❝The Shadow Twin of the Tojinomi Clan. Timid and calm, she despises her clan to the point where she wishes to destroy everything they have done.❞

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ───╯

┌──═━┈━═──┐

ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ

Compare to her twin, Kanade is suprisingly..soft.

Well, most of the time, you can see her reading alone near by the tree, or either sleeping deep down.

When she's awake, however, Kanade is a girl with a few words. Althoguh she isn't afraid to talk her thoughts out, she prefers to keep it all to herself until it gets very.. heavy. When she's exploded, no one can stop her, not even her twin sister.

Kanade keeps very well of her words. When someone make a promise, she will take everything to fulfill it, even if it will be her own grave. That's why many decided to put their trust on someone who is apart from an astrocious clan like her.

She is someone who will prefer peaceful solutions rather violence. However, her voice can be as sharp as a kinfe, driving even the steel hearts to spill tears.

Kanade may be an entity that nobody knows, but she still has morals. She is far.. more human than the sister of hers.

That is the truth.

†•°•══════ஓ๑✬๑ஓ══════•°•†

✬Unique Magic: Capriccio Farce (茶番カプリシオ)

↳The user is capable of creating a 'court room' using their imagination. When activate this room, an entity will appear and 'judge' you based on the user's will. If you are considered innocent, then you will be given a treat, the opposite applied to guilty. The treats varies from time to time.

†•°•══════ஓ๑✬๑ஓ══════•°•†

↳Backstory: [Children of Misfortune]

↳Her mother, Reiko has broken the contract with the Goddess of the Court, which lead to both Hikari and Kanade having monsterous features. Although her older sister is the most human, Night Raven College all agree that Kanade is far more benelovent.

↳Kanade was considered as the least favorite child due to her strange appearance. Because of this, Reiko will abuse her almost everyday when she's feeling under the weather, doesn't help that Hikari will often harass her as well.

↳Kanade likes cooking. You can find her around a kitchen when Hikari isn't near, I mean,, she is annoying to her.

↳Kanade is the person who helped Yukiharu escaping from the Tojinomi Headquarter, using her shadow abilities. She got punished severely by this, but she didn't care.

↳Among the Shirokami Clan, Kanade is called the Benelovent Shadow.

↳Her familiar is a small, blue elephant that were made from cottons.

↳Actually, unknown to Kanade, she can use Hikari's UM or rather a copy of it. This is due to her holding most of the Goddess's soul.

↳Kanade has multiple eyes, but the main one was always darker than others.

↳Main asethetic: Yamikawaii and Jirai Kei.

↳Kanade disliked blood. She can't stand the very scent of it, but she will often let it slide until it got to a point where she vomited.

@achy-boo @yukii0nna @abyssthing198 @writing-heiress @queen-of-twisted

[elfboyeros]

Photogenic

The First Chapter of Brier's Three: Raining Academics. Read about the nerds!

“Ms. Urgent makes seven students that have had to be rushed to the infirmary this year and it isn’t even the end of May!” Sloan huffed.

Sitting at the long meeting table with a few teachers and other staff members, including, Casper, Percy, Georgia, Calvin, a few other healers, the administrator of the hunters and huntress, the housemaster and housemistress over the dormitory, and of course Indigo.

“This has never happened before who can these kids just lose their abilities to perform magic or alchemy,” Percy scoffed.

“Granted this isn’t lasting,” one of the healers mentioned, “Thankfully they are regaining their abilities after a few days.”

“Urgent is different, however,” Sloan hummed with a nod, “She was carried into the infirmary by Mr. Couri, the other students were able to enter the infirmary on their own.”

“That’s assuming Ms. Urgent is a part of this group, she appears to be exhausted,” another healer added

“Appears,” Georgia repeated with bitterness in her voice, “she could very well be a part of this group we just don’t know yet because she’s still unconscious, maybe whatever is going on is affecting her differently.”

“She is fae,” Sloan mentioned quietly, “all of the other students are human.”

“See!” Georgia exclaimed loudly, “Mallory is fae!”

“Ms. Nozadze, please we are just—”

“Mallory is my apprentice!” Georgia shouted, “I have seen how she treats herself! She doesn’t push herself to exhaustion! Mal is an athlete! She takes care of her body and is more concerned about her health than I am about my own! She would just pass out because of exhaustion, I know that!”

Everyone in the room is silent before Calvin looks at Indigo, her hands clasped in front of her as if she praying to the goddess her forehead resting against her fists as she sits at the head of the oblong table, “Angel?” her husband asked curiously, “I know you’re thinking.”

“She will come down, not in a plague or famine, Mother Goddess will come down in curse man will a purge of all mankind of his power,” Indigo recited, “Bridgehid will one day curse all man for their corruptions only gift back the magic and whimsy when she sees that man himself has repented in full.”

“The Goddess’s Canvass Deliberate?” Georgia commented.

“It does sound similar to what we are currently experiencing,” Calvin muttered, holding his chin.

“It could be mere coincidence,” Sloan shrugged, “Remarking of religious hymns to the masses to explain what is happening to their children will only spark fear and create extremely religious and non-worshipers.”

“What if someone is taking the gospel to heart,” Percy remarked, “and doing this to the students because of some wrongdoing that the school has committed against us.”

Everyone fell silent once more. The idea that someone was purposefully doing this to innocent students didn’t sit right, especially when it seemed to be in the name of the saint over the island. No that didn’t sit right with anyone.

Indigo sighed, “It is normal for magical energy and power to ebb and flow when one is young and training, but not like this.”

 “And that’s not normal for alchemists at all,” Sloan added

“Start with those who are extremely religious or those who have studied theology,” Indigo instructed, “Am going to assume everyone in this room does not have a hand in anything if this truly is some kind of repentance. If it turns out that no one within the college is involved, there is nothing we can do outside the college gates.”

Everyone lets out a sound of agreement while nodding, “Keep in mind this is not a witch hunt, we are merely investigating what is happening to our students,” she added, before sighing once more, “You are dismissed.”

On cue, everyone involved left except for Calvin, “Tell me what you really are thinking,” he muttered as she crossed her arms and led her head on her forearm, “Everyone is gone.”

“Why does something go wrong when our kids get enrolled?” She vented, “With Rowan, it was finding out about Duke’s experiments, with Aurora it was the theft of the sacred tools, which we never solved, now with Alexandria and Finnegan it’s only getting worse! It’s like we are throwing them into danger!”

“Maybe we are some kind of bad luck magnet,” Calvin said with a light chuckle.

Indigo groaned, “Don’t say that! This is our children we are talking about!”

“I’m sorry, Angel,” Calvin sighed with a soft smile across his lips, “But these are our children, nothing is going to happen to them.”

“Calvin, they are just like anyone else.”

“No, they are like everyone else, Indigo,” Calvin sighed, getting out of his chair, and making Indigo straighten up, her gaze following him as he walked around her, “They are our children. Aurora is becoming a fantastic healer and she’s only 18, Alexandria is at the top of their class and proficient at the mage craft—”

“The fact that they are so powerful does frighten me a bit,” Indigo remarked, turning her chair to look at him as he stood by the window.

Calvin chuckled, before looking at the window, seeing their son crouched near a small pond feeding ducks, “and Finnegan, your son—”

“My son.”

“Your son is becoming a fine young man,” Calvin replied, “He is becoming a great mage thanks to you, and he’s becoming quite the protector.”

Indigo sighed, “He also worries me.”

“How do you think I feel?” Calvin joked, “You all worry me!”

Outside next to one of the ponds on the expansive Bridgehid campus, Finnegan is still feeding the ducks, making sure one of his mother’s many loves in the world is happy and healthy. He doesn’t hear the camera shutters, he doesn’t realize that there is a very tall lanky guy taking pictures of him from afar, as he has never figured out his mother’s sixth sense of knowing when she is being watched and when people are around her. So, he doesn’t realize that his photographer friend inches ever closer, continuing to take pictures of him.

“Has anyone ever told you, you are tremendously photogenic~”

He jumped at the sound of the voice, honeyed, masculine, and light, hitting the center of his eardrums while also being on his level. Looking at the source Finnegan is met with deep buttercup yellow eyes and an ivory face, brown hair dipping into the photographer's face.

“Hi, I’m Bonnie,” the photographer said.

“… Finnigan.”

Bonnie smirked, camera in hand as he continued to stare at Finnigan in the crouched position, “How did you get that scar on the corner of your lip?” he asked, reaching to touch Finnegan’s face attempting to touch his scar before Finnegan grabbed his wrist halting his Bonnie’s movements.

“You’re too close,” Finnegan stated before letting go of Bonnie’s wrist before he stood up.

Focusing back on the ducks, he can still feel Bonnie behind him, hearing the shuttering of his camera, “Do you like ducks?” the photographer asked.

“Not necessarily,” Finnegan muttered.

Bonnie hummed continuing to take pictures, “So who’s making you feed the ducks?”

“No one makes me,” Finnegan scoffed, “Maman likes ducks, so I feed the ducks.”

“I am assuming that maman is mother?”

Finnegan hummed softly, nodding, before standing. His gaze once again met Bonnie however he was at eye level with the dirty blonde’s chest. He is extremely tall, which caught Finnegan off-guard, after taking in his height the mage boy walked away.

“Hey, wait!” Bonnie called following behind him.

“I have to get to class!” Finnegan huffed.

The two boys walked down the stone paths around the outside of the school building, “There aren’t a lot of classes during the summer, what class do have at noon?”

“It’s a magical weapons training class,” Finnegan answered, before turning to look at Bonnie then swiftly turning away and walking faster, “Why the hell am I even talking to you!”

“Oh, you’re going to a weapons class?! Perfect, I was asked to take pictures of the summer classes for the school’s website.”

Finnegan rolled his eyes as it became more obvious that he wasn’t going to be left alone. Even once on the weapons field, even with the students on the turf with him, the instructing of his educator, and the thoughtful gaze of his father he could still feel Bonnie’s camera lens on him as if he could hear the shuttering of the camera itself. The fact that Bonnie was there, watching him specially, sat in the back of his brain eat away at him, causing him to make mistake after mistake.

“Finnegan?” Calvin called as his son packed up his things at the end of class.

“You should really have some kind of grip on the training spears if we keep using them we’ll start getting—” Finnegan turned to face his father while speaking only to stop when his face placed his large hand on his forehead, “Papa?”

“Are you okay? Do you feel alright?”

Finnegan clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, “I’m fine,” he scoffed pulling his father’s hand off his forehead, “Just… being stupid.”

“You’re allowed to make mistakes, son,” Calvin remarked, “There is no need to be perfect.”

Finnegan gave his father a small smile, “I know but…” he paused seeing Bonnie over Calvin’s shoulder still taking pictures, “Papa, I have to go!”

The mage boy grabbed his things before racing inside with a quick “Love you, see you at home!” thrown at his father.

Racing down the halls of the college with his school bag hitting his side as he did everything to get away from the tall boy with a camera, finding his way in front of his mother’s office door, before swinging the large doors open.

“Finnegan?” Indigo asked concerned, seeing her son out of breath and disheveled in her office doorway.

“MAMAN! I need you to kill someone!”

Her office was devoid of anyone but herself and the cat familiars apart of their family, who were cuddled up on one of the chairs in front of her desk.

“Miel, I would do anything for you, but can you tell me what’s going on?” Indigo inquired.

Finnegan stepped into her office before sighing and beginning to explain what had happened in the past couple of hours, “There is this boy with a stupid camera, he says he taking pictures of the school and the summer class, but I know he is taking pictures of me! He-he-he’s weird! Asking me questions and following me around! He’s even taking pictures of me and dad just having a conversation! GRAH! I need him to leave me alone!”

Indigo snickered, before Finnegan stared at her with an intense gaze making her clear her throat, “What’s his name bébé,” she asked.

“Bonnie,” Finnegan answered as his snow-white cat familiar nudged his hand for pets, “I don’t know his last name.”

“Bonnie Olsen-Nielsen,” Indigo read aloud looking at the file on said student on her computer, “He’s a senior, he moved here in the spring and started on campus, he is in the media club.”

Finnegan groaned, “Can’t you do something about this Maman?!”

“Miel…”

“Maman!”

“It is odd that he is taking pictures of you, but have you asked him to stop?” she pondered, “and not in your little passive-aggressive way that keeps you from making friends, have you actually asked him to stop?”

Finnegan thought for a moment, “… No…”

“Ask him to stop, and if he doesn’t come back to me.”

“Okay, Maman…”

Finnegan hung his head while leaving Indigo’s office waving goodbye, with his familiar following him, and leaving his mother with a pitiful, “I love you.”

Surprised, that he was able to get off campus without running into Bonnie or feeling his presence taking pictures of him while he walked home. Everything was grand until he reached home and saw that lanky photographer in his parent's yard taking pictures of the plants lining the side of the house.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Bonnie turned to a look at Finnegan seeing the rage on his face before pointing to the cottage, “You live here?” the senior asked.

“Yes! Why the fuck are you here?!” Finnegan shouted, “What the hell did you do?! Figure out where I live and come to my fucking house?!”

Bonnie looked at him confused before he continued, “my goddess, why won’t leave me alone! Why are you even taken pictures of me anyway!? I get be that interesting a subject to follow me to my own home and continue to take pictures of me!”

“Now hold one—”

Finnegan let out a villainous chuckle, “Oh and the taking pictures of me with my dad! That’s just fucking creepy! I’ve never understood what the obsession with camera is! It’s all so creepy, do you really—”

“I wasn’t taking pictures of you and your dad!” Bonnie exclaimed with a shocked expression.

“Quoi?” Finnegan asked quietly, his face becoming hot as Bonnie welling handed over his camera.

“Take it, look for yourself,” the photographer said before Finnegan took the camera apprehensively, “I was taking pictures of the college’s architecture. You and your father may have been in the photo, but I didn’t take them like that on purpose.”

Finnegan looked through the camera roll seeing the images of the college’s beautiful dark sculpting of Queen Anne architecture, he and his father cut off from the frame, “I do admit my actions are often creepy, and I was taking pictures of you without permission earlier, but I didn’t take picture of you and your father.”

Finnegan sighed, flipping through more of the camera roll and seeing pictures of the plants on the side of the house, “I also didn’t know that you lived here,” Bonnie added, “I was just on my way to see my mom at the church, then here this beautiful house cover in all this foliage, I got all little too excited and just started taking pictures.”

The mage boy sighed sulking over to the pouch steps hanging his and resting his arms vertically against his knees, forehead resting on his forearms like he is praying, “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“I apologize for being creepy,” Bonnie chuckled.

“I’m sorry for calling you creepy,” Finnegan groaned.

Bonnie chuckled again before leaving, “I got attacked.” The mage boy called as the photographer descended the stone path leading up to the cottage.

“Mhm?” Bonnie hummed, looking back at the boy on the porch.

“My grandparents had taken everyone to one of the cabins near the edge of the forest,” Finnegan began before Bonnie approached the porch to listen to the story about to be told, “I don’t remember how but Alex and I got too close to the forest and something reached out of the woods. Papa did save me, but I was already bleeding.”

“Your dad sees rather intimidating; I can’t imagine being that creature that attacked you made it out alive.” Bonnie chuckled, sitting next to Finnegan.

The mage boy let out a laugh, “Believe me, my dad is only intimidating in appearance… unless he has a sword in his hand… or you try to hurt maman.”

Bonnie smiled before handing over his camera once again showing Finnegan a picture of himself and a man with a similar appearance, “My father died in April. I think the reason I am obsessed with photography is because of him,” the senior explained, “He told me: “If you find something beautiful don’t hastate to take a photo,” he said that’s how he met my mom and even though they didn’t stay together long all the pictures he took of her were worth it. So, again, apologize for taking pictures of you without your permission,” Boonie flips through his camera roll before showing Finnegan a picture of the young mage in his weapons class, “but like I said, you are very photogenic.”

Finnegan smiled, his cheeks becoming flushed, “It’s good,” he muttered.

“Can I put it on the school’s website?”

“Sure,” Finnegan shrugged.

“Ya’ know,” Bonnie remarked, standing up from his seat next to Finnegan and looking upon the picture he selected, “You look like a prince like this.”

“What does that make you the court jester?”

Bonnie laughed walking down the stone backward, “Does that mean I’m your court jester?”

“It depends on how you jest,” Finnegan joked.

“Then the next time we shall me I shall aim to entertain,” Bonnie relayed with a bow, “Sweet Prince~”

 Finnegan laughed, “Go visit your mom, creep.”

“Until next time, Finnegan.”

“Goodnight Bonnie.”

[rosietrace]

Nyla Venator

†•°•══════ஓ๑「✦」๑ஓ══════•°•†

“Let the arrow guide you, and show you what it means to be a true scout.”

— Nyla Venator

╔══ஓ๑✶๑ஓ══╗

General Information

╚══ஓ๑✶๑ஓ══╝

Full Name — Nyla Mielikki Venator

↳ Nyla: A name of Arabic origin, meaning ‘the achiever, the successful one’.

↳ Mielikki: A name of Finnish origin, technically originating from Finnish mythology. Derived from the Finnish ‘Mieli’, which means ‘mind, mood’; While also being the name of the Finnish Goddess of Forests and The Hunt.

↳ Venator: The Latin word for ‘Hunter’.

Japanese ver. — ナイラ ミエリッキ ヴェネター

Romaji ver. — Naira Mierikki Venetā

Twisted from: Nyx

❐ — Nyx (Tinkerbell/ティンカーベル)

V/A(日本語): Marina Inoue (井上麻里奈)

↳ voices Yaoyorozu Momo, Boku no Hero Academia

V/A(���語/EN): Rosario Dawson

↳ Voices Nyx, Disney Fairies

Age: 19-20

Birthday: January 30th

Horoscope: Aquarius ♒

Species: Faerie of the Hunt

Height: 170 cm

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Lime Green

Gender/Pronouns: Female, She/They

Sexuality: Bisexual

Dominant hand: Right

†•°•══════ஓ๑「✦」๑ஓ══════•°•†

╔══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╗

Extra Information

╚══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╝

Homeland: Briar Valley

『 Family:

Father

Mother 』

Dormitory: Pemburu Hutan

School Year: 3rd Year

Class: 3-A(seat no. 15)

Club: Animal Research Society

Best class(es): Physical Education, Animal Research, Animal Care, Navigation

Worst class(es): Prophecy, Ancient Curses

Like(s): Tending/Talking to the animals on campus, long walks, nightly walks, styling her hair, nail art, archery, equestrianism, physical education, rage rooms, gossiping with her friends

Dislike(s): Dancing, injured animals, being called a ‘pushover’, the way Eclair treats Meryl, Sinan /j, badly designed artillery/tactical gear, arguments, ancient curses, being teased, figure skating

Hobbies: Horseback archery, spending time with campus animals, long/nightly walks around Pemburu Hutan or on campus in general, researching extinct animals, artillery design

Talent(s): Artillery design, animal research, animal communication, hunting, archery, silent movements, fast reflexes, signaling, equestrianism, navigation, gaining information

Flaw(s): Hubristic, argumentative, passive-aggressive, easy to upset, cautious, stubborn

†•°•══════ஓ๑「✦」๑ஓ══════•°•†

╔══ஓ๑✶๑ஓ══╗

Personality

╚══ஓ๑✶๑ஓ══╝

Nyla was always a little too ambitious for her own good. At least, that's what everyone else on campus says about her; Always so confident in her skills, never worrying about potential failure at any turn.

Nyla's confidence in her abilities isn't unwarranted, and that can be seen in the way she carries herself. That air of utmost confidence in oneself, calculating each and every detail from the corner of their eye.

But hubris does a lot to a person, and with how ambitious Nyla can get, it's no wonder why many dislike/worry about her because of how confident she is in herself.

Which is ironic, considering how cautious she usually is. Confident in her abilities, yet incredibly distrusting of anyone new she interacts with — for fear(?) that they're not who they want her to think they are.

Arguments are a given with Nyla. She dislikes having them, but that doesn't stop her from wanting to defend herself when the time calls for it. It's honestly astonishing how easy it is to upset her.

That isn't to say she's entirely a pushover! Nyla may have those moments a lot, but at heart, her friends call her a bit of a softie. (Especially around the animals)

She cares deeply for those she truly cares about and is only really protective of them because of her fear of her friends getting hurt.

Nyla knows she isn't perfect, and at the very least, she can see her flaws for what they are and wear them like battle scars.

†•°•══════ஓ๑「✦」๑ஓ══════•°•†

Unique Magic: Heart of a Soldier (兵士の心)

⇄ A hereditary ability that grants its user the ability to manifest an enchanted bow and arrow — one invisible in the eyes of those around them, but ever present in the eyes of the user.

↳ However, if the user has a bow on hand with them in a certain situation, they can simply use that, as well.

After firing the arrow at one's chosen target, the user can always know where their ‘target’ is while their Unique Magic is in effect; Using the sound of their heartbeat as a way to properly navigate their location.

⇆ This ability comes at the cost of the user's own heart, however. It will remain in effect for 60-100 minutes (about an hour and 40 minutes, at most) and once that time is up, over-usage of the ability will give the user a significantly slower heartbeat.

†•°•══════ஓ๑「✦」๑ஓ══════•°•†

╔══ஓ๑✶๑ஓ══╗

Thoughts on them

╚══ஓ๑✶๑ஓ══╝

“Dedicated young woman, Nyla is. In a way, she reminds me of her dormitory’s founder, Nox…. I simply hope Miss Venator won't suffer the same Fate.”

— Eclair Hollow, headmistress of Scepter Hall Institute

“I don't understand how anyone can be scared of Nina! She's sweet to me, and even sweeter to the animals! I kinda want her to teach me archery, but I don't think Mama will let me…”

— Meryl Hollow, Eclair's daughter

†•°•══════ஓ๑「✦」๑ஓ══════•°•†

╔══ஓ๑✶๑ஓ══╗

Additional Trivia

╚══ஓ๑✶๑ஓ══╝

✑ Main Theme: Horns by Bryce Fox

✑ Backstory: 『 Heart of a Soldier 』

✑ OC Playlist: 『 TBA 』

༝ㅤ･ㅤ˚ㅤ。ㅤ.ㅤ⋆ㅤ꒷ ↛. ·　° 　↯　⇝

➹ Nyla's a softie for most of, if not all of the animals on SHI’s campus!

↳ She doesn't like openly admitting it, however, and prefers to find a private area to gush about a certain animal.

➹ Batshit terrified of ice skating because of Sinan(@jasdiary). Girlie is holding on for dear life, because she'll be damned if she dies on ice, of all things.

➹ The type to have enough free time to babysit Meryl concerningly often. Seriously, how the hell does this girl have so much free time-?

➹ Shooting a moving target is a piece of cake for Nyla! Sure, some of them could be pretty fast, but she pulls through at the end of it all!

➹ Nyla's parents are members of the Briar Valley Royal Guard. She's always idolized her parents, and aspires to become a Royal Guard just like them one day! (Even if she doesn't hold enough attachment for Queen Maleficia or Malleus outside of natural respect)

➹ Nyla's easily disturbed by the way Headmistress Eclair treats Meryl. She understands that mothers are often protective of their kin — it was like that with her mother — but the way Eclair's so insistent on making sure Meryl never leaves SHI is so odd to Nyla.

↳ Frankly, everyone in SHI thinks that way. Nyla and Sinan are, more or less, probably the only ones who openly admit it.

➹ After Delta(@geminiiviolets) had transferred to NRC, Nyla frequently sent Delta letters so the two of them could catch up every once in a while!

➹ Literally a menace when it comes to gossip. No one knows why or how it came to be, but Nyla is ridiculously good at obtaining information and she uses that talent to get as much gossip as she can 😭

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Appearance

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Nyla's Tags

#nyla venator • #『 nyla 🏹 』

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[tellurian-in-aristasia]

An interesting character in the early days of proto Aristasia is Miss Helen Gilmour, or sometimes known as Miss Helen Baird or Miss Anne Gilmour. She seemed to be a member during their earliest days of the Madrian faith, and seemed to stick with them until the later half of the 1980s. A much more detailed timeline about her activities with the girls from St. Bride's can be found on the Madrian Deanic Resources blog. But, today I find myself thinking about a breif article from 1999, written about her time with the group. No scans of this particular newsclipping have been dug up, but the text version is found archived online:

With her hair pulled back in a bun, her full-skirt and blouse, Helen Gilmour looks every inch a sensible, middle-aged woman. It is hard to believe that she once gave up a promising career to join a cult whose members dressed in Victorian crinolines, and hosted dormitory romps for women dressed as schoolgirls. Now she gives advice on cults to people in the Bradford area.

HELEN GILMOUR was a civil servant in London when she spotted an advert in Private Eye. It was publicising a magazine produced by The Church of the Goddess - linked with a cult known as the Lux Madriana or Light of the Mother, and later known as Rhennes, after the Welsh goddess Rhiannon.

Intrigued, she sent for a copy. "It appealed to something in my imagination. I found it fascinating."

She went to a gathering of cult members. She recalls: "I didn't know what to expect. There were only five of us, but it was a moving ceremony. It had an impact on me. I was 29 and until then the only religious experience I'd had was as a child at the local Methodist church."

To the chagrin of her family, Helen, who lives in Great Horton, left her job with the Ministry of Agriculture and joined the 20-strong group full-time. She was initiated as a Lady of the Temple. She says: "It was like a confirmation and involved a 24-hour fast and all-night vigil."

The group settled in a rambling old house in Ireland, and practised a form of goddess worship based on a female creator and female dominance on earth. Says Helen: "It was an organised form of religion but it was in some respects very disorganised. It was stressful."

She puts this down to the policy to reject modern machinery and technology. "It was supposed to be a traditional, rural farming community, but it didn't work. There was not enough land to run a farm and none of us was competent enough. We had a donkey and poultry and we dug the ground, but we weren't achieving anything.

"People had to appear busy, but had nothing to do. There was a spiritual malaise, a lack of discipline and organisation which ruined the community - it filtered down from the leadership."

Television was banned - Helen still does not own one - and washing was done in old-fashioned dolly tubs. There were no electric lights and they cooked on a range or open fire.

The women wore Victorian crinolines, long cloaks and bonnets, and covered up their faces with veils. And when they opened a holiday "school" for women, offering the chance to re-live schoolgirl romps such as picnics, midnight feasts in the dorm and canings, the Press had a field day. Says Helen; "We needed to raise funds so we advertised the fantasy role-play holiday."

Although disorganised, the cult was strictly hierarchial, with a mistress of the house as boss. There were no overtones of violence or self-destruction which have made other groups, such as the Jonestown and Waco cults, so terrifying.

Helen claims she was not brainwashed, but adds: "There was something sinister at the heart if it. The founder was a remarkable person but was leading a fantasy life - we were living in someone else's fantasy."

Helen left after two years. Now 51, and a secretary at Leeds General Infirmary, she recalls her days in Ireland with affection. "I discovered a freedom, and talents that I didn't know I had."

She is a leading authority on cults and helps others through the Cultline, based at St Joseph's RC Church, Pakington Street, off Manchester Road, Bradford, of which she is an active member.

There are a couple lines I keep thinking about: ""People had to appear busy, but had nothing to do. There was a spiritual malaise, a lack of discipline and organisation which ruined the community - it filtered down from the leadership."" ... "Helen claims she was not brainwashed, but adds: "There was something sinister at the heart if it. The founder was a remarkable person but was leading a fantasy life - we were living in someone else's fantasy."" I keep thinking about the idea that what ruined the community was the lack of organization, and the idea that they were simply living in someone's fantasy, and looking back at all of the things the Aristasian group did, I feel like we can see this clearly. The constant jumping around between ideas, how Aristasia went from a fairly mundane paganism group, to ancient matriarchy, to school-girl roleplay, to Victorian secession, to BDSM heavy vintage fashion, to online roleplaying, to anime and purity culture, and ultimately to Japanese language study. Each one lasting about 5 years or so. But throughout all of these things there *has* been a strong set of religious beliefs that seemed to justify each of these things, no matter how much they contradicted the other incarnations.

[merryfortune]

Selfish Sleepers

Written for FE Flash Fic Friday on Dreamwidth

Prompt: WLW Rare Pairs

Title: Selfish Sleepers

Ship: Nerþuz/Sharena

Fandom: Fire Emblem Heroes

Word Count: 1,381

Rating: T

Tags: Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together, Cuddling & Snuggling, Humour, Sexual References

   The Inn’s dormitories were filled to the brim with every amenity a hero could need but there was always someone who was needier than most, believe me, Sharena could tell you a thing or two about that.

   Just like the family of three bears from that one fairy tale, everyone had different needs that needed to be accounted for and catered to. Soft pillows, hard pillows, fluffy beds, firm beds. Some liked privacy, some liked total darkness. Others needed a little bit of background noise and others liked some company. Variety was the spice of life and to keep Heroes in tip-top shape, the Order of Heroes did their best to provide so that the Heroes would be regularly well-rested and happy to provide their services.

   But some… some Heroes like to push the envelope. 

   Charlotte, hailing from Nohr, came to mind. She needed her beauty sleep, after all. She was very stringent about her routine of facial masks and other implements of skincare. She had big dreams and she was not content to let them be figments of her sleep.

   Hilda from the Officer’s Academy in Fódland was another example, too. She was very much the five more minutes type in the morning, very slow to start anything. Getting her up and dressed could be quite time consuming, no wonder Professor Byleth had whole systems of getting her ready for school.

   Then there was Nephenee, who belonged to the Greil Mercenaries, was the complete opposite. Too often she could be found asleep in a haystack or anywhere else, trying not to infringe on anyone or cause inconvenience by being selfish. Telling her she deserved just as much luxury as anyone else was like trying to convince a brick wall of a cause! 

   But none of those aforementioned Heroes had anything on Nerþuz!

   Oh gee…

   If it wasn’t one thing with her, it was another. She was a Goddess, after all. She wasn’t used to hearing the word no… But Sharena really wished that she was. She also seemed to operate in a completely different reality to most other folk which otherwise would have been chalked up to her holy origins but there were plenty of other divine and ethereal Heroes who were not as needy as her.

   “My pillows need fluffing!”

   That was a common complaint and with horns like hers, Sharena was sympathetic. It must be hard having to lug around such equipment, they were always ruining pillows, too. 

   “I can’t sleep without a lullaby…”

   That wasn’t too uncommon of Nerþuz to demand. She and her silly shows and whimsical skits, Nerþuz adored to have some entertainment. Sharena cringed in embarrassment to remember how she had to ask the Land Mother of her aid. At least she was easily amused and it seemed like it came from a good place…? Honestly Sharena had no idea but a few bars of a nursery rhyme and Nerþuz would typically plonk out asleep.

   But now Nerþuz had a new one… Something she hadn’t asked for before…

   “Sharena, my dear, I need a friend to sleep with.” Nerþuz pined. “I need something small and soft to cuddle and share in my dreams with…” Her tone of voice was sing-song.

   “Well, we have a fine selection of stuffed toys, you know.” Sharena chirped. “There’s Mr. Bear the Teddy Bear, or Henry the Horse or-”

   “Oh, sweetie, I don’t want a play-pretend friend,” Nerþuz batted her eyelashes at her, “I want you.” Her expression was all too come hither in the dim.

   “Wh-Huh?” Sharena blushed.

   Nerþuz swept her up into an embrace and Sharena’s face was forcibly nuzzled against Nerþuz’s velvet soft chest. Nerþuz hugged her tightly, much the same way as a child would hug her favourite stuffed toy, all but smothering Sharena with affection as she was stunned by it all. 

   “Pwease…” Nerþuz begged. 

   Nerþuz towered over Sharena and held her in a deep embrace, forcing her as close as close could be and Sharena was too useless to struggle as she was drawn into Nerþuz’s atmosphere. She inhaled deep Nerþuz’s unearthly scent and her mind began to whirl. Her perfume was sweet and heavenly, it made Sharena’s mouth water as it warmed her with… all sorts of lewd and lurid thoughts as Nerþuz waited on Sharena’s answer.

   One she wasn’t going to get any time soon the more Sharena dithered with her reveries quickly unravelling. Don’t have dirty thoughts about a Goddess, don’t have dirty thoughts about a Goddess! Sharena begged herself but she found the contact of her face to Nerþuz’s breast all too intoxicating. Focus on her negatives, Sharena told herself.

   Nerþuz was so childish and immature! She was as old as time and this was how she behaved?! Sharena, a mere nineteen year-old mortal, could hardly believe it but her lips went fuzzy. She could feel the blooms of red pulsate in her cheeks. Sharena was unable to deny Nerþuz this request, too. Just like all her previous ones. 

   Oh, curse her hospitable and generous nature! Sharena swallowed her pride once more.

   “O-Of course, anything for you, Lady Nerþuz.” Sharena replied, stilted and saccharine.

   “Aww, and that’s why you're my favourite child of Midgard.” Nerþuz celebrated.

   She dragged Sharena to bed and that was that - and made the middle spoon, no less. Nerþuz fell asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow which yes, was sufficiently fluffed by Sharena beforehand and made from goose feather down. Nerþuz’s breath whistled as she curled around Sharena and Sharena was held tight under Nerþuz’s elegant arms and the doona covers of the bed. 

   (Sharena could only hope that they got plenty of R&R Affinity from this, gee whiz.)

   But it wasn’t… uncomfortable to be Nerþuz’s living plushie, Sharena found as she fell asleep. If a little uneasily. Nerþuz was actually quite cute when she slept, from what Sharena could gather whenever she glanced over her shoulder. And thanks to all the - often thankless - prep that she did for the dormitories, with the help of the maids, the bed was pretty comfortable, too. 

  It was nice and warm. Or, more accurately, Nerþuz made it nice and warm. Her voluptuous figure generated a lot of heat which she was more than happy to share. So, Sharena drifted off herself and had a pretty good dream about warm, spring skies and gardens filled with endless flowers explored by bunny rabbits. 

   If only it could have lasted forever but all good things must end. Especially when out in the real world, it was just as lovely. The sunshine which came through the curtained window was yellow and charming, a whole day of training and studying was ahead of them and sounded quite energising to Sharena.

    Nerþuz still held onto her, her face buried into her back. Her hands were knotted in front of Sharena’s belly, keeping her close but Sharena began to wriggle about.

   “C’mon Lady Nerþuz,” Sharena whispered, “wake up…” 

   “Nooo… five more minutes.” Nerþuz pouted. “You're my toy, I decide when we get up.”

   “Aww but we need to get the day started.” Sharena insisted, still squirming despite how Nerþuz snuggled into her in protest.

   “Noooooo.” Nerþuz continued to whine.

   Nerþuz pulled herself up and on top of Sharena. She was… very heavy, Sharena realised. Of course she was, she was a deity with another form as an enormous and domineering goat but even still. This was a shocking realisation to Sharena as she was pressed into the bed.

   “Let’s stay in bed a little longer, please, my darling…?” Nerþuz implored Sharena.

   Her voice had dropped several octaves and had taken on a much sharper quality. There was practically a smirk in her voice, Sharena was too submissive to check as Nerþuz toyed with her. Their lower bodies were hidden by the covers of their bedding and for that, Sharena was glad as they were also aligned underneath the soft concealment of the doona. 

   “S-Sounds good, my lady.” Sharena’s voice cracked as she blushed.

   Nerþuz leaned in and slotted her head between Sharena’s neck and shoulders. The closeness made the light peach fuzz on the sides of Sharena’s face stand on end. Nerþuz nuzzled her and kissed her cheek sleepily, her intentions still obscured by her selfish eccentricity - to Sharena at least.

[fluffmugger]

The following night in the dormitory one of the boys from further along the coast shyly tried to put the boy in the next bed inside a wickerwork cage he made in Craft and set fire to him, and the night after that Snoxall, who had the bed by the door and came from a little country out in the forests somewhere, painted himself green and asked for volunteers to have their intestines wound around a tree. On Thursday a small war broke out between those who worshipped the Mother Goddess in her aspect of the Moon and those who worshipped her in her aspect of a huge fat woman with enormous buttocks. After that the masters intervened and explained that religion, while a fine thing, could be taken too far.

-- Terry Pratchett, Pyramids

[newsintheshell]

▶️ SOLO LEVELING: L’ANIME ARRIVERÀ SU CRUNCHYROLL L’INVERNO PROSSIMO!

Diretta da Shunsuke Nakashige (Mother of the Goddess' Dormitory), presso lo studio A-1 PICTURES (86 - Eighty Six, NieR:Automata Ver1.1a), la serie si basa sul popolarissimo webcomic coreano edito qua in Italia da Star Comics.

[twstchaos]

Original Character: The Goddess

Introducing: The Goddess!!!

Technical Information

Name: Kore Meraki (Κóρε Μεράκι)

Japanese: コレ・メラカイ

Romaji: Kore Merakai

Nickname(s): Betta* (Floyd), Mademoiselle Bosseuse (Rook)

*Floyd has to specify which “Betta” he is talking to using scientific names: Betta splendens (Vil) or Betta persephone (Kore).

Warning: Contains chapter six spoilers

Biographical Information

Gender: Female

Pronoun: She/Her

Age: 18

Birthday: March 20

Starsign: Pisces

Height: 180cm

Eye Color: Purple

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Homeland: Kingdom of Heroes/Island of Woe

Family: Ourios Meraki (Father), Demetria (Mother), Teleia Meraki (Step-Mother), Khalkeus Argos (Half-Brother), Ergane Meraki (Half-Sister), Enyalius Argos (Half-Brother), Cythereia Drepanum (Sister-in-Law), Cynthia Aigletou (Half-Sister), Phoebus Aigletes (Half-Brother), Poimandres Pleiades (Half-Brother), Lysius Meraki (Half-Brother)

--

Professional Status

Dorm: Ignihyde

School Year: Third

Class: 3-B (No. 13)

Occupation: Student, Aide to the Heir of the Shroud Household

Club: Board Game Club

Best Subject: Classical Literature and Classics in Art

--

Fun Facts

Dominant Hand: Right

Favorite Food: Gyro

Least Favorite Food: Olive

Dislikes: Running errands for Idia

Hobby: Tabletop Roleplay Games

Talents: Instantly finding whatever dice she is looking for in her dice sack

--

Appearance:

Kore has long dark brown hair tied back into a high ponytail, leaving some longer strands of her bangs to neatly frame her face. Before moving to the Island of Woe, she had an olive complexion, but years of living with the Shrouds faded her skin tone which make her freckles and eyebags more noticeable. Her eyes are purple in color. Kore sports a permanent pout from having to do all of the heavy lifting for Idia.

Kore dons the standard Night Raven Academy female uniform, which consists of the black blazer on top of the blue, gold-lined vest designated for students of Ignihyde, and a short black skirt, all without the black and white tie. She ties the Ignihyde armband around her hip. In the dormitory, Kore wears a dark navy blue deep v-neck tank top with the standard bright blue half-vest over her right shoulder and across her torso, navy-blue pants, and black and blue boots. She either drapes the jacket over her shoulders or ties it around her waist.

--

Personality:

Kore is a very snarky individual, spending years around Idia would do that to a person. Somehow his introvertedness did not rub off on her, helping Ortho drag the Ignihyde dorm leader out of his room. Where Idia is not, Kore will be, running errands for him and generally doing the hard work. Despite her hatred towards doing everything for him, Kore and Idia do get along well, but him making up by buying her dice and gyros does make Kore a tiny bit willing to do it. Speaking of dice, she is the textbook definition of a dice goblin, always showing up to the Board Game Club with a new set of dice. Kore is one of the more competitive members of the Board Game Club, either dishing out challenges or readily accepting them from others.  

--

Background:

(Chapter Six Spoilers)

The Merakis are a prominent family in the Kingdom of Heroes and one of the head families of the Jupiter Conglomerate. The patriarch of the household, Ourios Meraki, sired eight children; the youngest of which is Kore with his ex, Demetria. Her parents split when she was an infant, resulting in her spending her time between the Meraki household in the Kingdom of Heroes and Demetria’s in the Shaftlands.

Growing up, due to business relations, the Merakis and Shrouds had a decent connection with each other. Thus, Kore and Idia were somewhat close as children. However, at the young age of ten, the two would become inseparable. Disaster struck the Shroud family, and as the youngest of eight with zero possibility of ever becoming the head of the Merakis, Ourios handed custody of Kore over to the Shrouds as a companion to their grief-stricken child. She was forced to leave her brothers and sisters behind and live in the Island of Woe.

Kore was there by Idia’s side through all of the failed test runs, supporting his attempt at creating life. She held him as he broke down, and he held her when she missed her siblings too much.

Four years after Idia successfully brought Ortho to life, they both received their letters of admission to Night Raven College. Together with Ortho, Kore and Idia attended the prestigious school and were both placed into Ignihyde. In the crowd stood a certain student of Ignihyde about to embark on his journey as an interning fourth year: Poimandres Pleiades, the youngest son of Ourios Meraki and the older half-brother of Kore. Upon their arrival into the dormitory, Poimandres took it upon himself to welcome his baby sister whom he had not seen in six whole years with open arms. After their reunion at the school, Kore was finally able to reestablish her bond with her older siblings, starting with Poimandres.

--

Abilities and Unique Magic:

Because of her experience and enjoyment with tabletop roleplay games, Kore is very adept and quick with improvisation and thinking on her feet.

Kore’s Unique Magic is called “Restoration”. Restoration is a purely support-based power, which allows Kore to negate and remove any and all effects from an individual target. Additionally, she can act as a conduit for blot accumulation by siphoning blot from whomever she is in physical contact with and must keep holding on to the person to take in blot. Kore can also redirect the accumulated blot into another target.

Incantation: “Take a rest. Debuff negation. Heal upon my word. Restoration.”

--

She is twisted from Persephone from Greek Mythology 

and Megara from Disney’s Hercules.

More information will come out in the future~

[fuckyeahanimebirthdays]

Koshi Nagumo (Megami-ryou no Ryoubo-kun.)  » March 10

[rinwellisathing]

Paint The Lines, Cut The Flesh: Part 13

As they entered the gauntlet, Sentry allowed Shadowheart to take the lead. As a paladin, he understood the importance of a pilgrimage like this and that she would want to prove herself fully to her goddess. He had to admit, her training was impressive. He watched as she easily crept through the darkness to solve the mechanism to open the doors. There was a heavy feeling of being watched, as though Shar herself were also keeping an eye on Shadowheart's progress. The path forward was dark and cold, the familiar smell of death filled the air as the party made their way into the main hall of the ruin. Ancient corpses littered the ground and the silence was all-encompassing. Sentry could have imagined the party were the only ones here, until he set eyes on a group of skeletal figures. Their construction was slap-dash and their gear was ancient. Some necromancer or another scavenging for scraps, he guessed. Still, the clattering creatures approached, holding up their hands as though to prevent the group from venturing forward. “Ugh...Myrkulites...of course there's loads of shoddy skeletons.” Sentry grumbled, narrowing his eyes at the creatures. “You trespass here...” The first skeleton accused in a noise that grated like metal on stone and earned an incredulous glare from Shadowheart, joining Sentry at his side. “No, it is YOU who trespass here in Lady Shar's domain.” She shot back, reaching for her mace. “Stupid worm infested cockheads!” The head skeleton hissed, drawing its own weapons. “Okay, nevermind, they're actually sort of charming.” Sentry chuckled, though quickly drawing his axe as he noticed several portals opening around them. ---

Jaina found she could do little but wander the tower and the balcony while she waited for her friends to come looking for her. She spent most of her time in the library. Ketheric had not left the roof top balcony since they had spoken up there, but he had given her run of the upper floors. Currently she sat on Isobel's old bed reading through some old letters and journals she had found in the library, smiling gently at the picture they painted of the girl who once called this room home. Isobel reminded Jaina of her mother, someone she could easily get along with as she read through story after story of the Selunite. Her eyes paused a moment as she glanced down at a page, reading a description of the day an emissary from The Moonmaiden had arrived in town. A daughter of Selune herself. The young woman's writing reminded her of so many romances she'd read alone in the dormitories at the school, both as a student and as a teacher. The way Isobel described the woman was like a knight in a storybook. 'Her silver armor shone in the light of the sun as she made her way through our town square and all seemed to come out to see the emissary our goddess had sent. Her skin was the porcelain shade of the moon itself and her hair was pale gold as starlight. She was of a powerful build and carried a sword made to cut down any evil that would eclipse her mother's light and in that moment as our eyes met, I knew I loved her.' The tiefling found herself laying across the bed on her stomach and reading intently over the next few pages, looking away only for a moment when a second body put pressure on the bed, the skeletal watchdog peering curiously at the book from beside her.

'Father does not believe Aylin's affections for me are true and he cautions me, but he is wrong. How could our love be false when we both feel it so intensely? Aylin, a daughter of Selune, has knelt before me as though I outshone her. She worships me in ways I cannot even worship my goddess. Such a love could be nothing other than true. Father will come to see that...' “Did you like Isobel's lover, Squire?” Jaina asked absently, patting at the dog's clean white bones. “What kind of a person was she?” The question was more towards herself than the dog, knowing that even when she had previously cast speak with animals, the dog was fairly resistant to small talk or indeed giving her much information at all. “Well, regardless of your opinion, she does sound quite dreamy...And anyway, dogs don't know about these things.” She decided before once more losing herself in the story of the priestess and the paladin. As she read on, a small part of her mind began to wander and imagine Wyll might come to her rescue. A smile slowly crept over her face and she closed her eyes, dreaming of him climbing through a window and tossing her a sword, the two of them fighting side by side and then back to back through The Absolute's forces, making their escape from the tower and pausing only for the kind of deep, intense kiss they only wrote about in story books. She sighed and nodded her head a moment, lost in the fantasy, until, blushing brightly, she shook her head and told herself she was being foolish. Wyll was an intelligent man and a sound strategist, he would never attempt something like that alone, but when she imagined Sentry, Lae'zel, Astarion, Octavia....mostly them, the others could at least operate with some subtlety...well, perhaps not Karlach, but she found Karlach's beautiful smile and strong arms were on her mind nearly as much as Wyll was, so her intrusion into the fantasy would hardly be an intrustion at all, but the other four that came to mind, they'd ruin any sense of romance with their style of combat...and then Sentry would, of course, say or do something unsettling... ----

“It's like I said, shoddy craftsmanship. Myrkulites are just no good at putting things together.” Sentry shook his head with a sigh as the party explored the crypt, the broken bodies of the skeletons scattered among the haunted armor of long dead justiciars who had attacked. “I could care less about some foul mouthed skeletons.” Shadowheart frowned. “I'm more curious as to why my Lady's own faithful would attack me. Is it some kind of test?” She seemed to fret as they approached a crumbling stairwell, stopping only as Halsin threw out an arm to hold Shadowheart and Sentry back, causing Astarion to crash into Sentry's armored back and hiss with complaint. “What in the sweet hells was that for?” He snapped, glaring at the druid. “Yeah, Halsin. I see the drop, I was gonna jump it...” Sentry explained, looking to the taller man for an explanation. Halsin nodded towards a dark figure at the bottom of the broken staircase, staring up at them with bright yellow-green eyes, its fur was so dark it seemed to absorb any light permeating the gloom around it. It regarded them only briefly and then turned to slink down the hall, barbed tentacles swaying from its back. “A displacer beast...” Sentry quirked a brow. “I mean...thanks for the heads up, Halsin, but I'm pretty sure we could've taken it.” The druid furrowed his brow. “And alerted what else in the process?” He chided, giving Sentry a chastising look. “I may dislike the Cambion as much as you do, but I listened well to his rambling and I haven't forgotten what he told us was down here.”

“Right...Orthorn...yeah...” Sentry nodded. “Well, we'd better go find it so we can get this over with and help Astarion. Besides, these 'trials of Shar' will be all the more difficult with him creeping around.” The tiefling hopped down to the lower level and followed in the direction the cat-like creature had gone. The others followed along and soon found themselves in a large open room decorated with bodies in various stages of preservation of decay, some flayed and turned into sculptures, some fully skeletal and made into trinkets, a bed of faces frozen in expressions of terror and pain gazed at the party from an alcove where the displacer beast now sat watching them with a smug sense of satisfaction. “You look lost, little rabbit.” A deep voice boomed from above. The party turned in unison to see standing on a balcony of shattered stone behind them was the hulking figure of the orthorn, his flesh red and bumpy with ridges and prongs, cunning yellow eyes glaring down at them as he trained his crossbow in their direction. “Ugh....rabbit, mouse....don't you devils ever get sick of imagining everything as a prey animal? What if I preferred to be a wolf? Or perhaps a snake? What then?” Sentry folded his arms across his chest. “A wolf would have been smarter than to stumble into my lair and a snake would have done so quietly.” The creature replied, not lowering the crossbow. The bridge of his nose wrinkled a moment and he sniffed the air. “Wait a moment...sulfur...and cherries...You're dealing with Raphael.” His lips twisted in a snarl of rage. “Not willingly, I promise.” Sentry scoffed, rolling his eyes. “But look, tell me something because I'm curious...maybe I'm weighing my options here? What's your history with that smarmy asshole?” “Raphael trapped me here ages ago with his damned contract.” The creature's nostrils flared, rage burning behind his eyes.

Sentry nodded his head, putting on a look of deep thought. “I see...And this contract, can I see it?” He noted the creature's incredulous expression. “Only, I'm a paladin and my friend here is a damned fine magistrate, perhaps we can pick up something you missed.” “Aha...one moment.” Astarion plastered on a large, false smile as he grabbed Sentry by the shoulder and pulled him in close. “What do you think you're doing!?” He hissed, “Just kill him already! Otherwise Raphael won't help me.” “I'm getting to it... I'm getting to it.” Sentry replied out of the corner of his mouth before turning with a huge grin up at the orthorn. “You can't 'see' it.” The orthorn frowned. “He gave it in the form of a song.” Astarion gave Sentry a withering look as if to say 'well now look what you've done' as the hulking devil paused a moment and began to sing, his tone flat and following no particular key to speak of. “Spill all the blood sworn to the night, Silence all prayers; smother each rite, Wander Shar's halls; hungry to slay, Leave no Justiciar alive to obey, Leave none to hear it, then be set free; This song is your oath, swear, swear it to me.” Sentry winced and gave an awkward half-clap. “Well, we won't be seeing you on any grand stages any time soon, but it gets the point across....” Shadowheart nudged Sentry and her eyes flicked towards the company of merregons flanking the party, they had stood silent and at attention the entire time. Sentry raised a brow and looked at her in confusion, just barely catching the sudden twitch of her ears. “Oh! Well, they've got ears, haven't they?” Sentry asked, gesturing to the small army. The devil looked at him, somewhat dumbfounded. “They are merregons, they are made only to follow orders, they don't have a thought between them.” “Thoughts, no, ears, yes.” Sentry insisted. “They've heard the song, and yet they're still here.” The orthorn seemed to ponder this a moment, but could not find fault in the tiefling's logic. He nodded to his soldiers and gave them a gesture and within moments, every single merregon had fallen upon their own blade. “It didn't work...” The creature growled, eyeing Sentry with a warning look. But by now, Sentry understood what Shadowheart had meant and he nodded towards the displacer beast. “Your companion has ears AND a mind to comprehend.” He continued.

“Kill Nessa? But...” The orthorn paused a moment, gazing mournfully at the sleek, shadowy creature. He sighed heavily and leveled his crossbow. “Hold still, my beauty...” As the beast collapsed to the ground, lifeless, he snarled with rage. “And still I remain!” The voice in the back of Sentry's mind solved this quandary, urging the paladin on. “But sir, you've heard the song as well...” The devil's eyes widened and a hollow laugh escaped his throat, his expression a mask of rage. “Of course...that bastard would....” He shook his head and glared down at Sentry. “If this doesn't work either, I will return from the hells and hunt you to the ends of the earth...” He snarled as he drew a dagger and handily disemboweled himself, his body slumping over lifeless as his innards spilled. “Well...that's one way of getting the job done...No need to find Raphael, I suppose...he usually does a good job of finding us first...” Astarion folded his arms, taking in the scene of carnage. “Told you I wouldn't let you down.” Sentry smiled confidently. “You certainly do have a honeyed tongue, Sentry.” Halsin remarked, gazing somewhat uncertainly at the havoc that tongue had wrought. “Shall we look around? He's bound to have had some kind of treasure, maybe a powerful weapon or two?” Sentry suggested. “I mean, waste not, want not and all?” “See, I knew there was a reason I liked you.” Astarion smirked. --- Back at camp, Kroger stole nervous glances towards the corner where Arabella had immediately latched onto the camp's mysterious benefactor. She bombarded Withers with question after question and showed no fear towards the undead being, seeming to regard him as an indulgent grandfather almost.

“I should tell her...I shouldn't keep it to myself, it's cruel to let her hope for so long...”The ghustil frowned to himself, inhaling deeply as he tried to work up the nerve to tell the child what he had seen in the house of healing. After all, there was no leniency or indulgence for githyanki children, they were forced to confront such things far younger and far more viscerally. But no, Kroger remembered those feelings, he remembered being expected to handle so much so young. His upbringing told him it was meant to make him strong, but his instinct as a healer told him he had needed, more than that, deserved tenderness. There was too little tenderness in his world when he was young and too little in this girl's world right now. “Brother?” Kroger was shaken from his thoughts by Octavia's interruption. “Sorry to startle you, it's just the others are returning, I thought you might want to see to any injuries, especially considering how you only just finished treating Mr. Ojeda not too long ago.” She continued before making her way to where Gale was cooking a meal to help him. Kroger nodded. Yes, the distraction he needed. He slowly rose to his feet and met the returning party at the fire. He noted Sentry had a large grin across his face and looked slightly dazed. Pressing a palm over his eyes and inhaling deeply, Kroger braced himself to hear what the group had gotten themselves into. “Well, we came through it mostly unscathed, actually.” Shadowheart assured him. Then her expression fell, nose wrinkled in disgust. “And then Sentry had to taste a dead spider we found and he's been weird ever since.” Kroger sighed and shook his head, approaching Sentry. He produced a small wand of light from his pouch and waved it at differing angles in front of Sentry's eyes, deactivating the spell and putting it away, taking out a small metal rod and looking up at the tiefling. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue, Mr. Ojeda...”

Once Sentry had been examined and Kroger was satisfied the effects of the strange ingestion were temporary, Sentry joined Astarion at his tent and the familiar scent of sulfur and cherries filled the air. Yugir was right, that really was a disgusting scent, Sentry thought.

“Do you know what happens when a devil is struck down on this charming plane of existence?” The cambion mused, striking his usual self-important pose. “It returns to The Hells. To the very point where it last stood before venturing into whatever Devilforsaken plane it died on...” He gave a chuckle and a nasty little smirk. “In the case of our friend Yugir, the Orthorn you so handily dispatched in the Temple of Shar, he manifested in my House of Hope.” “Uh-huh...None of which has anything to do with us. The deal was kill him, we did that. Now tell Astarion what he wants to know.” Sentry demanded, arms folded across his chest. The tiefling was unimpressed with Raphael's posturing and pretty poetry. He still wasn't sure why, but he had less trust, less tolerance for this man than the rest of the party did. Something scratched and gnawed at the back of his mind that even before the incident with Mol, he had reason to dislike Raphael. “Yes, exactly! We did as you asked, now I want what I'm owed. We had a deal.” Astarion glared at Raphael, impatient and irritated that the cambion would, of course, drag this out as much as possible. Raphael's smirk widened. “Indeed we did. I discovered all there is to know about those scars of yours. Rather a grim tale, even for my own tastes...” “Sure, I'll bet.” Sentry snorted. “You're just trying to frighten him so you get something for nothing.” Astarion nodded. “I don't care how gruesome it is, I need to know.” Though he did for a split second seem a big apprehensive, did Sentry note fear in his eyes? “As you wish...” Raphael chuckled darkly. “ Brace yourself, Astarion! We are about to uncover your destiny.” The cambion gestured grandly. “Carved into that ivory skin of yours is one part of an infernal contract between the archdevil Mephistopheles and your former master, Cazador Szarr.” Sentry grimaced. He was afraid of that. The wording did seem official, though he had chalked that assumption up to his own lack of experience in legal matters and hadn't wanted to hazard a guess and risk being wrong, frightening the other man for no reason. He looked to Astarion, checking to see if he was still alright. The vampire was listening intently.

Raphael continued. “In full, the contract states that Cazador will be granted knowledge of an infernal ritual so vile it has never been performed....” Raphael's expression grew dark and serious as he intoned nearly reverently. “The Rite of Profane Ascension.” Sentry and Astarion looked at one another, Sentry's expression one of concern, saying without words that he was here, that Astarion was safe. Astarion for his part held a look of equal parts fear and fascination. “It promises to be a marvelous ceremony, very elaborate, incredibly ancient, and entirely diabolical.” Raphael smirked, his gaze remaining on his captive audience. “If he completes the rite, he will become a new kind of being-- The Vampire Ascendant!” “And what would that entail?” Sentry raised a brow. “All the strengths of his vampiric form will be amplified, and alongside them, he will enjoy the luxuries of the living.” Raphael replied smugly. “The arousals and appetites of man will return to him, and, unlike Astarion, he will have no need of a parasite to protect him from the sun.” “The catch? I mean, apart from it being Cazador and all...” Sentry asked, impatiently. The nasty gleam in Raphael's eyes grew brighter. “Ah yes, the ritual has a price, as do all things worth while...” He leaned in closer. “ Lord Cazador will need to sacrifice a number of souls, including all of his vampiric spawn if he is to ascend...” The cambion laughed aloud. “Imagine, then, how he felt when one of those spawn simply disappeared into thin air...” “Well, I guess it's not a problem then. He won't be ascending because I will never allow him to lay a hand on Astarion.” Sentry replied, instinctively taking a protective step in front of Astarion.

“Either way, our business has concluded and I have much to do elsewhere.” Raphael smirked, Sentry's protective nature was almost adorable. With a snap of his fingers he disappeared in a cloud of red smoke. Astarion frowned, looking at the ground pensively, his eyes fearful but with intense thought behind them. Sentry reached out to him, not touching, not without permission, but leaving his hand open just inches from his shoulder if he need him. “I meant what I said, that rancid old shit won't touch you ever again.” Sentry assured him. “You've got not just me, but all of us. We're stronger together.” The paladin smiled gently. “Cazador wouldn't let me slip away so easily when I was just another plaything, now I know he'll never stop hunting me....” Astarion replied. “He'll keep coming after me until the end of days...” He inhaled deeply. “The only way I can be safe is to kill him.” Sentry's expression brightened. “You know me, I'm really good at that! I'll be right by your side when the time comes.” Astarion smiled and finally allowed himself to lean into Sentry's touch. “Thank you.”

----- After a night's rest, the party had returned to their explorations of the temple ruins. Several uneventful encounters with skeletons and ghostly justiciars led to a strange room, which Sentry half-way recognized as a necromancer's lab of some sort. Ghouls skulked about tidying and replacing incredients, and a large man in a black robe stood at a table guarded by an even large creature of twisted flesh. “Hmm...Not many True Souls could make it this far...” The man gave a wicked smile in Sentry's direction. “You should be proud.” The man looked so familiar, Sentry was sure he had seen him before, even just in passing. Something about him struck a similar chord to Raphael, that instant visceral dislike. “I am Balthazar, advisor to General Thorm...and since you have made it this far, I can only assume you're here to assist me in aiding him...” The man continued, steepling his large, wormlike fingers.

As he spoke, Sentry's eyes drifted to what seemed to be a specimen shelf and his eyes fell on an odd little bottle. Inside there seemed to swim a brain in a viscous green liquid. The colors were enchanting, so charming together. Sentry's mind swam with ideas, the textures such a brain could make as a painting tool and the tint that greenish liquid could give to the right shade of paint. Or, another sculpture, perhaps one of those creatures he had encountered on the nautiloid. He was barely aware of what the necromancer was proposing. “Yeah, yes...we came to help...um...from Ketheric.” Sentry nodded. “If you want to go over the details further with my companions...” He began to inch towards the shelf, by some miracle, either the necromancer didn't notice or assumed Sentry wouldn't do anything. “Yes, I'll take the details. I'm far better at keeping them in mind, our friend is a bit absent minded.” Shadowheart easily picked up with a cover story, her Sharran training on full display as she pretended to be another agent of General Ketheric here to retrieve his artifact. As the necromancer explained the details to Shadowheart, who nodded along and occasionally asked what could have easily been a pertinent question, Sentry palmed the bottle and slid it into his pack before making his way back over. “Fascinating specimens, really just top notch...and that fleshwork you've got there, did I hear you tell my accomplice he was your brother? Amazing.” Sentry nodded with approval, looking up at the creature. “In part, yes—my unborn twin. Mother always resented me for it, said I strangled him in the womb if you believe such tripe.” The necromancer sneered. “Ah, yeah, I've heard similar, I had a sister once with seven twins...um...I feel like there's a word for that, but anyway, she killed them all too...of course, they had already been born at the time, I think she was twelve years old, as she told me...Still, similar stories.” Did he have a sister like that? Or was it just an old story that popped into his head? For some reason, the beautiful smiling elf from his fractured memories came to mind and he made a mental note that she was probably dangerous.

“At any rate, once I developed my powers, I fetched him from the graveyard, brought him back—gave him a new, better body...” The man sighed and shook his head. “Alas, mother was not pleased...” “That's too bad, you know, sometimes parents just don't understand real artistry. That certainly is phenomenal work on his new body...I hope she eventually understood.” Sentry gave a sympathetic nod. “And how's your mother now?” “Oh, we're still close.” The necromancer grinned wickedly. “She's in that jar on the shelf over there.” He blinked and paused as he noticed the jar was missing, his eyes widening. “This jar?” Sentry asked innocently, producing the one he'd stolen from his pack and holding it up. The necromancer sputtered a moment, reeling with angry. “ What the...!? Give me back my mother this instant!” “But she has so much potential...” Sentry frowed, drawing the jar back to himself, holding it up to his face and gazing through the green liquid at the necromancer.. Shadowheart was hiding a mirthful grin behind her hand and Astarion looked ready to burst out laughing. Halsin looked rather ill. The necromancer cried out and aimed a ray of green energy at Sentry, who quickly leapt out of the way. “Damn! And here I thought you were a fellow artist!”

----- Octavia frowned. Usually Gale would be starting to cook by now, but there was no fire prepared and the smell of food was uncharacteristically absent from the camp. She looked around for any sign of him, and finding none, she approached his tent, coming face to face with a shimmering simulacrum instead.

“Greetings! I am here on behalf of Gale of Waterdeep, he wishes you to join him at another location, I can take you there when you are ready.” The figured beamed. “Oh...um...yes, I'm ready.” Octavia nodded and took the figure's hand, finding herself in a clearing beneath a sky full of brilliant stars. Gale sat not far from where she had arrived and she walked over to join him, sitting beside him and smiling. “What a beautiful place!” She beamed. “You imagined all of it?” She breathed, gazing in awe at the stars. Somewhere far beyond them was her home. “Yes....having time to contemplate one's mortality will often make a person sentimental...” Gale nodded, leaning back. “I...I wanted to thank you for traveling with me, for all you've done...” “Of course! For a charming man like you? Anyone would have.” Octavia beamed, joining Gale in reclining a bit more. “Gods, this is such a perfect night...is it one you remember distinctly or just what you might imagine one to look like?” She continued. Gale gave her a small, sad smile. “I've spent much of my time absorbed in study and entwined in the weave itself, so I must confess this is put together from what I've read and from what I've seen on our journey.” Octavia nodded gently, her fingertips softly brushing his hand. “Then you are a powerful wizard indeed to conjure this from imagination.” “You could as well, Octavia. The power and potential you've shown while we've traveled together, the brilliant mind you possess....” He began and then sighed. “You make me wish I had more time...” He shook his head. Octavia gripped his hand, squeezing it tightly, she frowned a bit. “And you don't because Mystra decrees it?” She looked up at him with those wide, eloquent eyes.

Gods, she was giving him the reproachful look Tara gave him so often, usually when he was doing something foolish. “It's the only way to defeat The Absolute....” “Is it?” Octavia cocked her head to one side curiously, “Because did Mystra not also decree that her followers, and especially her chosen should preserve magic in all its forms?” Gale opened his mouth to respond, but Octavia held up a hand. “Why then are you being punished for trying to do just that, Gale Dekarios?” Gale thought a moment, lowering his head and exhaling deeply. “Let's...let's not talk about that just now...I actually brought you here because I wanted to confess something...” He took both of Octavia's hands in his, his deep brown eyes meeting her bright lizard-like blue eyes. “I love you, Octavia of Creche K'liir...and I wanted to spend just one night with you before...before the end.” Octavia blushed, smiling softly. “Oh Gale...There were signs, certainly, but I have made errors before, so I said nothing, but...” She pressed her forehead to his. Her skin was smooth and cool to the touch. “I love you too...and though it doesn't seem it now, there will not BE an end, not so soon...but you're right, for now let's simply enjoy one another's company.” The world around them faded and reformed, a beautiful, cozy study taking the place of the quiet glade. Octavia's face lit up as she gazed around in awe. A real wizard's tower! She had only seen them in books or a few lesser ones once or twice when a curious fellow mage would invite her to share knowledge and a meal. Gale's was beyond all of them, however, books lined every wall and more still were stacked on desks, comfortable chairs, ornate statues, and even out on the sun drenched balcony which overlooked a beautiful harbor. “I could stay in this place forever....” Octavia breathed, leaning against the balcony rail and gazing out at the sky. She smiled, pressing her body to his as Gale slid an arm around her waist and leaned in close.

“There's more I can show you, if you like....wonders of the weave itself that even few wizards experience....” He smiled gently. “Then show me. I'm eager to learn.” Octavia gave a coy, playful smile. “And don't be shy, I have loved before, even if never in the way you're suggesting...I like to try new things.” ---- “You know, my memory isn't all that great, but when I became a paladin I don't think I had to jump through nearly as many hoops.” Sentry groaned as the party picked their way over the fallen undead justiciars and made their way into the library's vault to retrieve the sacred weapon which was said to lie within. “Well, that's simply because Ilmater is not as discerning as my lady.” Shadowheart replied, placing the correct book on the pedestal and standing before the massive golden embossed door, waiting as it lowered and stepping in to claim her price. The magnificent spear glimmered before her along with a set of beautifully crafted armor and she breathed deeply as her trembling fingers brushed the shaft of the weapon. Sentry rolled his eyes. “Pretty rude for someone who still needs me to cover them in battle.” The tiefling murmured. He glanced at the weapon and whistled. “That IS a pretty fine weapon, though...the blade looks particularly nasty...” “If all the pomp and circumstance is through with can we PLEASE find this Nightsong and get out of here? I'm all for the whole gloomy crypt look, but even I'm getting tired of this place.” Astarion whined, folding his arms across his chest like a petulant child.

“Far be it for me to complain, but this place truly is far from welcoming.” Halsin added. “We're almost through, I can feel it. My destiny awaits.” Shadowheart took a deep breath as the party made their way back up to continue on. After making use of the strange glowing baubles they'd found in each tedious trial, they crossed the black expanse on another floating platform. Sentry marveled at the statues they passed. Not his preferred medium at all, but he recognized the craftsmanship that went into depicting the goddess of night and every painstaking detail of her elaborate garb and beautiful yet cruel face. They made their way through a final door and into what appeared to be an ancient baptismal bath. The silence was oppressive, but still Shadowheart went to her knees in the water and began to pray. Astarion rolled his eyes impatiently, but Sentry and Halsin both gave him a look which plainly said 'this is important, do not interrupt her.' Sentry understood all too well communion with one's god, and though he wasn't sure he'd ever heard Ilmater's voice, he was well aware the anger he'd feel if he was disrupted while speaking to Commander Ojeda's spirit. Finally, Shadowheart rose to her feet and inclined her head. “Thank you for your patience. We'll press onward now...” And the party ventured forward into the water, slowly sinking, the darkness enveloping them until they emerged on the other side into what felt like a tempest. Shadowheart led the way over the craggy terrain and across the daunting gaps in space. Spirits of past justiciar hopefuls whispered their wisdom on all sides and the storm grew louder. Finally, the party alighted on the final platform, where a pale woman in rags, her body struck through with gold scars, struggled against phantasmal bindings.

“Another would-be Justiciar come to seek the praise of your wicked goddess, come to drive a dagger through my heart...” She woman spat, pacing the floor and glaring at Shadowheart as she regarded her distrustfully. “Not a dagger, a spear.” Shadowheart replied forcefully, hefting the beautiful weapon she had acquired. “My Lady Shar's spear!” Shadowheart turned to Sentry and looked intensely up into his eyes. “Her fate is mine to seal, let me handle this!” The woman shook her head and frowned. “The fate you seal is your own, to be a Dark Justiciar is to turn your heart from everything but loss. You will know no love, no joy, only servitude.” Sentry felt a gnawing in the pit of his stomach at those words. The love he couldn't remember, the sharp jolts of pain throughout his entire body while he saw only red agony, the compulsions that tormented him, the nagging voice in his mind urging him towards evil. He felt a chill through his body, but he took a deep breath. This was Shadowheart's choice, whether he liked it or not. “Until your mistress inevitably discards you...” The woman continued, her expression softening, her eyes held a look of truth to them, she did not seem to care about saving her own skin, only warning Shadowheart away from this awful fate. “And there is much she does not tell you-- a terrible blood price which may extend beyond my own death...” Sentry looked to Shadowheart uncertainly. There was hesitation, she didn't seem certain anymore. Behind that look of determination, there was doubt. If she did this, Sentry worried for her, what her future would be. He had felt this worry before, he realized, though the memory of who it was for was shrouded. He reached out to her. The woman was eyeing Sentry curiously, clearly it was obvious to her that he was not a Sharran, but she seemed to hold no expectation that he would intervene, only that his presence here meant something was very different than the trials of justiciars past.

Sentry inhaled deeply and placed a hand on Shadowheart's shoulder. “I trust your judgment, Shadowheart, I know you'll do what's right.” The half-elf paused a moment, gripping the spear tightly in trembling hands and squeezing her eyes shut tightly. She bit her lip as though fighting back a thought clawing at her mind and for one awful moment, Sentry's own mind raced with excitement, eager to see celestial blood spilled, but he forced it down, no, he didn't want this. But it was Shadowheart's choice....And as he waited with bated breath, he saw his trust was well founded. “...for I know you, a lost child frightened by wolves in the dark...” Shadowheart gasped. “What did you say?” “Much has been promised to you, but what do you know of your own heart, of your own life?” The woman asked. She gazed at Shadowheart, pale grey eyes locking with bright green. “I sense more in you than you know...” The spear flew over the edge of the platform as Shadowheart hurled it into the abyss below them, breathing heavily, eyes wide as it dawned on her that she had betrayed Shar. She had failed her goddess. Sentry offered her am arm for support. “I can't belief I just did that...defied Lady Shar....she will disown me...” Shadowheart murmured, still trembling. “What will happen to me?” “Not what will happen, what will you do...” The Nightsong corrected her gently. “Your past is not yet lost and your future is not yet fixed.” She explained. She knelt before Shadowheart, even going as far as to bow her head in trust to the girl who might have killed her. “Lay a hand on me in friendship, not-quite-Sharran, and I will fight that battle that has awaited me this last century. And then, oh then, we shall have much to discuss.”

Sentry took a step back, allowing the two their space, and he kept watch beside Astarion and Halsin as Shadowheart hesitantly approached, laying her hand on the woman's shoulder. The air around them grew cleary, the darkness abating even if only a little. It felt as though strains of reverent song rang out through The Shadowfell as the woman's fist connected brutally with the ground in rhythmic succession and her rags were transformed in glimmering armor the color of pure moonlight and inlaid with blue gems and glass. A beautiful sword appeared in her hands and pristine golden wings extended from her shoulders. Shadowheart gazed in disbelief at the figure before her and Sentry was unable to hide his awe as a fellow paladin. She was a creature of legend, a true being of light. And with one final glance down at her rescuers, she inclined her head gracefully and flew off at great speed from her prison. A shimmering portal appeared in her stead and the party made their way towards it. “You know, I'm kind of surprised Shar is this quiet about being defied, I'd always heard what a jealous goddess she was.” Sentry mused as his eyes darted around the relatively unchanged domain. “Still, I guess better safe than sorry, we should probably leave.” “A fair point...I shudder to think what's in store for me..” Shadowheart whispered, gazing fearfully behind her as the party left the Shadowfell.

[yumeko2sevilla]

Amaterasu_ unknown marionette

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ

"I am not a human after all, what do you mean."

_The Unknwon Marionette

Full Name: 'Amaterasu'

⤿Amaterasu (天照大御神): Formally known as Amaterasu Ōmikami. She is the goddess of the sun and universe in Japanese mythology.

Japanese: 天照大御神

Other Names:

╰┈➤Amaterasu-san_ Prefect-san

╰┈➤Monsieur Marionette (Rook Hunt)

╰┈➤Crystal Jellyfish-chan_ Kurisutarukurage-chan (Floyd Leech)

╰┈➤Mindless Puppet (Airin Tojinomi)

╰┈➤Darling (Divianta)

╰┈➤Ama (Tsukuyomi)

Title(s):

╰┈➤Prefect of Night Raven College

Twisted From: Jackpot Sad Girl+ Bitter Choco Decoration_ syudou_ Vocaloid- Project Sekai

Voice Actor(s):

╰┈➤Japanese_ Yūko Kaida_ Tsubomi Kido_ Kagerou Project- Mekakushi Actors

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Age: 20 (Appearance Wise_ Forever)

Gender: Unknown (They/Them)

Species: Conscious Marionette

Birthday: August 13_ Leo

Height: 183 cm_ Marionette Form, 192 cm_ Human Form.

Dominant Hand: Ambidextrous

Hair Color: Quinacridone Magenta_ Crimson Red

Eye Color: Crimson Red

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Homeland:__

『Family:

╰┈➤Divianta ("Mother"; Phantom of Vengence)

╰┈➤Tsukuyomi (Younger Brother; Human?)

╰┈➤KAFU(Youngest Sibling; Human?)』

Dormitory: Heartslabyul_ Ramshackle (Unofficial)

Occupation(s):

╰┈➤ Prefect of Night Raven College

╰┈➤ Bartender_ Unofficial Diva of Light Music Club

Grade: Freshman

Class: 1-A_ No. 9

Club: Light Music Club

Hobbies: Dealing with works, staring at the aquarium, observing.

Favorite Food(s): Don't know.

Least Favorite Food(s): Tsukuyomi's cookings.

Talent(s): Archery, Acting.

"One of the Prefects of Night Raven College. A reliable, yet unnerving and emotionless marionette that gains the trust of every students. What lies behind those eyes, were left unknown."

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

┌──═━┈━═──┐

ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ

"I have played well, as a fool. Have I?"

╰┈➤An Obedient Maiden: Amaterasu is,, quite obedient. Polite yet distant, they always call others "Master" in a neutral tone. Rules and orders are in Amaterasu's following list, despite how cruel it may be for themself. And when it comes to tasks that related to people, they are a marionette that would want to know everything.

╰┈➤A Clockwork Heart: Emotionally apethetic and distant, Amaterasu came out as dispassionate, largely lacking in interests especially to humans. Prefer to state the fact than smoothering others with lies, their words are always straightforward and blunt. Whilist it seems to come out insenstive, maybe they mean it in a good way. It's quite ironic, considering how they always lie.

╰┈➤Guilding to An Alive Memory: When ask for their opinions, Amaterasu always says they don't know, yet desperately searching for the answers. In the rare cases where Amaterasu feels emotions, it were memories that were intense. Yet overtime, Amaterasu has became more rebellious, although they're still keep their obedient nature.

†•°•══════ஓ๑✬๑ஓ══════•°•†

✬Unique Magic: Views of The Spider Threads (蜘蛛の糸の眺め)

"In the demise of the fallen world, I embrace the continous redness. Views of The Spider Thread."

╰┈➤The user is capable of seeing everything. From the past to the future, from the reality to concepts, there are almost nothing that they couldn't see. All you need is tell them, and they will seek it for you. But beware, if you change the future with bad intentions, the consequences will strike back to you.

†•°•══════ஓ๑✬๑ஓ══════•°•†

╰┈➤ Backstory: •°•[ A Lost Child and The Witch]•°•

╰┈➤ Amaterasu once punched a Savanaclaw senior, due to how he insulted KAFU and Yukiharu. Later, the senior is known as Leona.

╰┈➤ In the Light Music Club, Amaterasu is known as the Diva of the Club. This is mainly due to how they have a good voice, and know many metal songs. (Quite the contrast of their nature.)

╰┈➤ Amaterasu is the Host of Anbelrona Hansel, the Phantom of Controlling.

╰┈➤ Logically, Amaterasu doesn't really belong to any dorms, even Ramshackle. But due to Crowley's wish, they got sorted unofficially to Heartslabyul and Ramshackle. They also have a Heartslabyul's dorm uniform.

╰┈➤ Their marionette form is actually at the same height of an average human.

╰┈➤ Their voice are distorting, and husky with no emotions in it much. It was kind of robotic.

@anxious-twisted-vampire @writing-heiress @achy-boo @yukii0nna

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