#necrophcge

[miserycorde]

"✎" may i offer you this terrible no good bug i've found in this trying time ✊️✋️🐝

send me a “✎” and ill draw your muse

[No amount of RAID is gonna help you now]

[ferinehuntress]

◈　 ⇢  @he-who-meddles　 ⋯　 Umprompted Ask . 　　　❝ Nightsong, sing for us o' Nightsong, the disciples of Sharr mock from behind their grim masks as they flit between the eternal shadows ever closer. Nightsong, weep for us o' Nightsong, they jeer as they cleave and cut with gleaming blades her porcelain flesh from bone. Divine life splatters across the stone dias, cracks are hewn into the immortality of her person, all to precede the wretched finale of that fell spear lancing her heart to the cry of Nightsong, Nightsong, o' Nightsong... only to rouse again in darkness, ever surrounded by the darkness of Shadowfell. A wheel of pain ever circling onward, onward, interrupted only by the offering of a gruesome claw and a voice that does not demand but inquire only ever by her name. "Aylin. Bargain with me, Aylin." ❞

The winged Aasimar fought, she defied the shadowed zealots as they stood around her. One of their own had finished the gauntlet and was here to claim her prize. She glowered at the brunette, the sneer on her lips as she flourished her blade.

"Cowards!" Aylin exclaimed as she tried to pull her arm away, but the mage's hands had twisted into a set of chains, pulled upward and attached to the floating rocks above. Cowards, every last one. They couldn't even face her in a proper fight, left in chains as she hissed when blade met flesh. It weaved into her body, slicing at flesh, gashes opened up as her ruby-red blood stained the ground. Still, she continued to resist the temptation of crying out, knowing that was their challenge, their purpose. To make the Nightsong sing, as they like to say. For her voice to echo screams in this shadowfell. She could see Shar, overcast in the distance with a cruel smile on her lips.

Not only did she have a Selunite in her possession, but none other than the daughter of Selune herself. A prize, a trophy, one she would flaunt in front of her sister for as long as she was caged in this place. The slice of the knife cut against her underarm as Aylin gritted her teeth and nearly bit her tongue in the process. She violently pulled against her chain, unable to fight against the sadistic behavior of these initiates. "I will not, I will NOT GRANT YOU YOUR SONG!" Aylin screamed out toward the soon-to-be justiciar, as the others chanted, and the blade slammed into her gut.

A gasp of pain echoed in her lips but still no cry. However, the tears did start to fall, the pain coursing her body as she took more than what was humanly possible. Her wings thrashed behind her, also chained to the ground so that she could not even use her powerful wings to throw these zealots off the rock. The cry of pain finally came went the sword met the base of her wing, knawing and slicing through as Aylin let out a gut-wrenching scream. As soon as it echoed off the rocks, did the justiciars cheer. She lost the battle, every time. Desperation made her cling to any hope to not give in, and yet she couldn't.

The final act of defiance was the tear-streaked glower, as she looked up and the spear slammed into her heart she couldn't even cry at that point. Death was brief, as her head hung down, lifeless with blood staining the entire ground.

How long had it been? The whisper of her name caused her head to shake, chains no longer holding her (until the next initiate came through). Her hands pressed down against the rock as she looked at her chest. The wound healed, for now, but the golden scar started to grow greater and more prominent each time she was stabbed. "Bargain?" Venom left her lips, unsure of who it was. Perhaps another Sharran trick, as she slowly pushed herself up onto her knees but nearly collapsed forward once again. Her throat burned forward water, her stomach ached for food. Fingers reached back to feel her wings had grown back. She must have been out for a week if not two. The blood was dry on the ground, but it was starting to turn the rock rusted red.

"Why would I bargain with the likes of you, Charlatan? Come out of the shadows, and dare face the might  of the Moon Warrior!" Aylin shouted, trying to form some pretense of power despite her helpless predicament. She knew who it was, this creature of shadows, always asking for a bargain. How many years had it been? Time passed differently in the shadowfell, but she knew it had to be a few years at least, perhaps a decade already.

It was all she had, was her words. She clung to them like moss on a tree.

[faerunscursed]

Do you believe in justice, or do you see it as a tool to manipulate others? (for karlach?)

Moral Questions | Accepting

"Do I look like the kind of person that manipulates people?" Karlach rose an eyebrow in confusion at the question. Of course she wasn't to surprised by it, given with whom her affilation was tied to in the past, and still was. "I would never use anything as tool for manipulation, especially something like justice."

Karlach let out a hefty sigh before continuing her answer. "Though I'm not sure what I believe in is necessarily justice, persay. Maybe in a sense of that I want what is right for others, especially the innocent." The tiefling rest her chin on her hand in thought, deciding how to word her next words. "I think it more boils down to sense of vengeance. Justice can't always be sought out, but vengeance? Oh that's easy to handle, more satisfying too. Some day I'll get vengeance of my own."

[faerunscursed]

Karlach was all too aware of where they had each stood in their battle in Avernus, how she had fought the creature in Zariel's name. At time the she had enjoyed it too. There had no hesitation in following Zariel's orders, in fact every part of her hungered for it, fueled by her rage that the devil had made no attempt to cool. Back then, it didn't matter who or what you were, if you stood in Zariel's way, you would meet the blade of Karlach's axe. Zariel's axe.

However, now, the tieflings that stood across He-Who-Meddles was no longer just a weapon for Zariel's whims. No, Karlach was her own person now and with her own set of morals and a conscience. Her body bore the punishment of that, the engine running at rapid speed the most notable proof it. Never mind the horn that had been so painfully removed.

"Don't you dare call Zariel my master ever again, say that again and I might actually chop you up like a Christmas tree for a completely different reason." A growl erupted from her chest, coming out feral and cruel that matched her rage in Avernus as she tightened her hold on her axe. Already she could feel flames lick the surface of her skin. "I remember what side I was on, but I'm not that way now. I'm more than Zariel's warhorse and I won't let her control me anymore."

In an attempt to calm herself, Karlach took a deep breath, slouched her shoulders down and relaxed her body. She muttered a series of words to quickly center herself too, before she loosened her hold on the axe. "I figured if you were here, then that meant that Zariel sent you, wouldn't be the first. She's already sent at least a dozen goons to bring me back to her, and seeing as you were down there with before..." Karlach shook her head, "Nevermind."

Finally the tiefling approached He-Who-Meddles with more confidence and comfort than she had before now that she knew she was in the clear. "I don't want to be rage that Zariel made me be, she may have my soul, but not my spirit, and so here I am trying to avoid a fight for damn once." Karlach tilted her head in curiosity, "So if you're not here because of her, then why are you here? Were you on the ship too?"

"Few expect it. I've been told it's an uncommon face." He Who Meddles releases an amused whirr at Karlach's wariness, stalking just close enough to urge her into raising that too-familiar axe of hers before beginning to circle her. Pedipalps rubbing against one another, spittle dripping from his fearsome maw, the sharp edges of his mandibles shivering before just scraping together... oh, for as unexpected as this encounter is, it's quite a welcome surprise and one he intends to indulge in without hesitation. Perhaps there should've been bitterness or loathing for having been laid low by the Blade of Avernus a year past now, nearly carved in twine by the fearsome hewing of her mighty axe in that fateful battle. Yet instead there lingered that desire to meet her again since slept upon till now; to turn mandible and claw upon her once more, to see which between them would emerge the victor this time in their own little Blood War waged solely for themselves...

At least until Karlach utterly ruins the tension of the moment. There's an almost offended noise that slips past the hideousness of his maw at the insinuation, mandibles flashing dangerously as they gnash together. "Zha-ree-elle? As if your master could command me to do anything! Don't tell me you've forgotten which side of the Blood War your fearsome blade was raised in service to, axe-fury. I certainly haven't."

Unless this little venture to the mortal plane was not devil-ordained? He Who Meddles considers the thought carefully, intrigued by the possibility but not willing to let it prevent a rematch. So what if they were no longer aligned against one another in Avernus? Did anyone truly need a reason to bloody another beyond a desire to prove one's strength? Perhaps they could battle still...

Yet it's a notion thoroughly trounced and trod upon with Karlach's desire voiced, much to He Who Meddles'... irritation? No, what is this? Cloying, clawing, hunt-with-no-prey? Disappointment, yes, that's the feeling. He's disappointed to say the least. "Truly? You emerge from this wreckage stinking of blood and hellfire, a thought-stalker-hatchling in your head, yet you don't wish to bloody your axe more?" He actually pauses in place, stopping an admittedly failed attempt to intimidate Karlach to offer her a seemingly bewildered tilt of the head. "Why?"

[yellowfingcr]

what kind of tragedy are you?

written in the stars

it had to end this way. we all know it. only you were unaware. you had hope. hope, of course, only makes it hurt all the more. we all knew you would look back, oh love, there’s no other version of the story. and yet, alongside you, we still had hope. we believed in you, even though we knew you couldn’t win. and you believed in yourself till the last moment. it isn’t fair, is it? you didn’t know you were doomed.

tagged by: @necrophcge !

tagging: YOU

[izar-tarazed]

What kind of tragedy are you?

Izar: doomed from the start

there was no way of winning, and you knew it too. but you still tried. you tried again and again and again to change it. you fought tooth and claw to change your fate, but she cannot be easily manipulated. it’s not your fault. the game was always rigged against you. from the moment you entered the narrative, your fate was sealed. you didn’t stand a chance.

Ensha: wrong place, wrong time it shouldn’t have been you. oh my love, you should have lived. if only. if only you had made a right instead of a left. if only your friend hadn’t had so much to drink. if only it hadn’t rained last night. then everything would be fine. a butterfly could have flapped its wings at another time and you would have have been fine. safety was so close, and yet so far. but alas, the stars just had to align.

(Love how both results are somewhat fitting! As a Tarnished, of course Izar "tried again and again and again". Fate sealed from the moment she entered the narrative; doomed to either continue along a path not wholly hers, or lose the grace and everything, both times without fulfilling the purpose she wished for. And while Ensha's "wrong place, wrong time" is fitting too, I still can't stop laughing about it. Yes, Ensha, if only you hadn't been in the Roundtable Hold and decided to go after that particular Tarnished! You could have stayed right next to the study door, but NO. (I think it's somewhat fitting for my canon-divergent Ensha who survived the ambush, too, but still.) Tagged by @necrophcge; tagging no one in particular, go ahead and do this for your OCs if you want to! Feel free to tag me so I see it. :)

[shimmerbeasts]

What kind of tragedy are you?

self-inflicted

you were given the choice to live, a thousand times over, and yet you never choose it. not intentionally, oh no, you didn’t know it was a grave you were digging. but with every turn, you were twisting the knife deeper. every decision doomed you more. had it been anyone else, they would have made it. but you? you are so perfectly you, there was no escaping it. the true tragedy of it all, is how preventable it was.

What kind of tragedy are you?

written in the stars

it had to end this way. we all know it. only you were unaware. you had hope. hope, of course, only makes it hurt all the more. we all knew you would look back, oh love, there’s no other version of the story. and yet, alongside you, we still had hope. we believed in you, even though we knew you couldn’t win. and you believed in yourself till the last moment. it isn’t fair, is it? you didn’t know you were doomed.

What kind of tragedy are you?

self-inflicted

you were given the choice to live, a thousand times over, and yet you never choose it. not intentionally, oh no, you didn’t know it was a grave you were digging. but with every turn, you were twisting the knife deeper. every decision doomed you more. had it been anyone else, they would have made it. but you? you are so perfectly you, there was no escaping it. the true tragedy of it all, is how preventable it was.

What kind of tragedy are you?

doomed from the start

there was no way of winning, and you knew it too. but you still tried. you tried again and again and again to change it. you fought tooth and claw to change your fate, but she cannot be easily manipulated. it’s not your fault. the game was always rigged against you. from the moment you entered the narrative, your fate was sealed. you didn’t stand a chance.

What kind of tragedy are you? (Lae'zel)

doomed from the start

there was no way of winning, and you knew it too. but you still tried. you tried again and again and again to change it. you fought tooth and claw to change your fate, but she cannot be easily manipulated. it’s not your fault. the game was always rigged against you. from the moment you entered the narrative, your fate was sealed. you didn’t stand a chance.

Tagged by: @necrophcge and @ferinehuntress

Tagging: @apalestar, @warwaited, @deaddoveadventures, @the-rogue-dragon, @countlessrealities (The Smith family), @moxxietude (Lacrimosa, Loona), @zaunseye, @playgroundmonsters (Ran), @ruinouss

[ferinehuntress]

what do you consider your strengths as a writer?

are there any lesser played canon characters you’d like to see in your community (bg3 or league/arcane)? would you consider writing them?

◈　 ⇢  @necrophcge　 ⋯　 questions for writers

I'm honestly not sure. Writing has actually never been a strong suit! Man, you should have seen my grades in my writing classes, and then when I got to college, I had to have extra help and tutorials. My professor once said I have great ideas and unique concepts, but that I struggle to put them into words on paper. It took everything I had to go from an F to a C in my language arts classes.

So, I guess my strengths might be ideas, concepts, or plotlines, and I also would like to think my use of imagery (descriptions) and maybe emotional triggers (like making you feel things in a thread) are some of my strengths? Though honestly, I try to listen to other people and ask them rather then try to figure it out. Cause I read my stuff over and over and I never think its that great XD

As for Characters, oh that's a doozy. I have barely been in the League of Legends fandom, but hands down, I want a Jaheira. Omfg, that woman is my heart and soul in BG3 (besides Karlach and Aylin, yes I thought about adding her to my roster too LOL). Jaheira is amazing and I would love to see someone write her and let me write with her. Let Karlach fangirl over her (and hells, no lie I could see a karlach/jaheira ship too!) Honestly, I'm not sure though. There are so many characters, and so many things to go with it, I am just happy to be in the fandom.

As for League of Legends, hmmm… Nto really sure here. Miss fortune would be fun to write with, and I did write her for maybe… 2.5 seconds. I might bring her back in time, who doesn't love a sassy Female Pirate! For the most part, I'm not really sure, since I am still relatively new to LoL as well. But yeah, I'm open to anyone exploring anything XD

[ferinehuntress]

💧 DROPLET , ❤️ RED HEART, 💀 SKULL — how has [Ketheric Thorm]'s death influenced your outlook on life, if anything? ((for dame aylin :y

◈　 ⇢  @necrophcge　 ⋯　 DEVELOPMENT QUESTIONS 💧 DROPLET — are you grieving something or someone? do you feel like you lost something or a part of yourself with it/them? / ❤️ RED HEART — what is/are your love language(s)? how do you use it/them to communicate your feelings about others? / 💀 SKULL — how has [name of person] 's death influenced your outlook on life, if anything?

Even as the dead king lays in ash and blood, his name continues to haunt her mind and many questioned her of him. Her fingers curled as she growled, a wolfish action that she did not care to hide. "Why must you wrought my mind so with the cursed man's name?" Aylin demanded the nameless one as she turned her head away from him and threw her wings outward, stretching them far and wide as they shimmered in the sun's rays. Those wings flittered once and then folded against her back. "He did not influence my outlook on life, any more than Mykrul has. I still believe in the good of people, and that most are searching for a path to live their life. Men like him should have no bearing or influence over the minds of others. All he caused me was a bitter hatred til I saw him dead. He deserves no more words from my mouth than what I spoke to him the day I killed him. He is a traitor, a betrayal, and the likes of the world she has never seen," Aylin snapped her lips in fevor rage before taking a breath.

"Enough of him," She demanded and waved her hands. Instead, she turned her thoughts to the next question, yet still more somber than the last. Her icy blue eyes turned to look at her hand, flexing the massive palm to see the rippled scars upon it, tracing up her arm. Cracked and glittering underneath the sun, a reminder of all the torture the Sharrans and Shar herself had wrecked upon her. "I...I do not know, how to speak of such thoughts," Aylin whispered, her voice sounding less angelic and more down to earth. She struggled, her brows pressed downward as she brushed her palm against her chest, tugging out her shirt, and shook her head. "Something is... amiss. Shattered glass where once solid stone stood. I feel it, at night. Tossing, turning, wrought in a battle of nightmares and terrors. Only when I wake up, does the loss torment me worse. Something... something is gone, and I don't know what it is, nor where it has gone. All I know, is I wake up crying, the breath gone from my lips as I mourn what used to be. I grieve myself, mortal. I grieve for what I used to be, and wonder if I shall ever be whole again. My dear Isobel provides me the strength I need, but even I find it difficult when those horrors haunt the edges of the mind,"

Aylin faded from her speech, for now, no longer talking. Her eyes stared into the distance as if piercing through the clouds and sky and looking into nothing but emptiness. Despite standing there, she didn't know what she was staring at, as if the world continued to move and yet she wasn't there. Briefly, it felt dreamlike as Aylin shook her head, trying to ground herself again. Isobel would always rub her wrist to her palm and so she reached down and started to press her thumb against her wrist, pushing upward to the center of her hand. Her mind silently listed things she saw around her before blinking and returning to reality.

"Tis the third question, that, I can answer," Aylin grinned as she gave a flap of her wings. "My moon lily, my lovely Isobel, I love to sing songs and speak with such poetic rhymes to her. Such words of affirmation, sweetly speaking with delightful memories of words I once read. Yet she is my living poem, my beautiful book open for me to read over and over. So perfect, tis she. But, I also love quality time. One of the first nights with my dear love was in the middle of a rose garden. Not only did we speak poems to each other, but she showed me all the night flowers that blossomed in the rays of the moon. It was such a beautiful time, and at times we would walk silently, and yet, I could not be more enamored by her time. tis hard, to claim one love language, when I like to grace my love with all of them. I will shower her with gifts, kiss her hand, help her dress, and aid her in any way possible. My heart yearns to always offer her what she needs," She finished off the questions with the last one, one that held my love in her heart then the heavy topics from the first ones. She hoped it satisfied the mortal, though she was more than willing to talk about the light of her life even more if they gave her a chance to.

[miserycorde]

In most other situations, Nepenthe would have been entirely willing to let the opposing hunter claim the kill on her behalf. It would spare her from a lot of things -- the act of taking yet another life, dealing with the bloody aftermath, being in Caelid for a moment longer than she needed to be. Indeed, this would have been such a pleasant surprise...

Except it wasn't. She needed the blood of the Tarnished as an offering, unspoiled by whatever this Pest sought to do with it. Naturally, her assumption was that it'd be something related to rot, as was their usual point of fixation... That, and her own bloodlust had been itching. A wretched mire scorched within her very being, placed there against her will. Regardless, she had little choice but to bend to it, lest she disappoint the Formless Mother and lose herself to the craving. It was a risk she was never willing to take.

If this adversary was prepared to fight, then a fight he would receive.

Unfortunately for the White Mask, He Who Meddles was in his element. Dangerously lithe, crawling across the Caelid's disgusting terrain with remarkable agility. Pure insectoid determination. Even with her own athleticism, there was no way that Nepenthe would be able to catch up with him in time.

She had options, at least, from her vantage point upon the cliff. Hastily, she removed one of her gloves, revealing the pallid and bruised flesh underneath. The accursed blood in her veins prickled beneath the skin of her palm; a volatile conduit for her blood oath, the arcane repugnance that came to her from the Luminary and the Mother. Honestly, she preferred to only use her miséricorde when she could, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Carefully, she placed her cold fingers against her lips, and then stretched her arm outwards. A putrid swarm manifested before her in the form of a red cloud, starved for sustenance.

Beneath the natural ambience of Caelid, it was likely that He Who Meddles would be able to pick up on the sound of the bloodflies tailing him, should he not be too distracted by his quarry. They were distinct in their approach; biting. Bleeding. Buzzing. Oh, so much buzzing! Not wanting to waste another moment, Nepenthe began to clamber down the cliff as soon as the incantation was ready, using a gnarked root to support her weight as she made her much-slower descent. The swarm would not exist for long. She was still acting on borrowed time.

She could only hope that it'd be time enough for her to catch up.

His gaze had lingered a moment too long it would seem, too caught up in the surprise of seeing another stalking his target to keep his observations swift, and He Who Meddles rattles off a menacingly sharp hiss as the eyes of the white mask seem to meet his own. The gleam of their steel-sharp knife glinting in the barest sunlight, their posture coiling with an intent and their grasp on their blade-- the intent could not be any clearer, nor could their affiliations by the foul-blood clinging to them amidst the familiar scents of Caelid.

Frustration gnaws at his skin from within, making his chitin itch, and it's accompanied by an... unfamiliar sensation. Simmering low but surely, bubbling up at the notion of someone daring to interrupt his pursuit for their own designs. Indignation, yes, indignation that another would seek to take-claim prey from his very jaws. No less than one affiliated with that of a rival power, for even with little love for Rykard that he has there need be no doubt as to who the better hunter be...

Perhaps that's the thought that truly incites a reaction from him beyond merely impaling them with his glaring, for when they spare a glance between the tarnished (still ignorant, still ripe for the taking as the knight begins to of all things snack on something--) and himself, He Who Meddles raises a clawed digit up and draws it across his throat painfully slowly. A terribly human gesture, but hopefully one that would get the point across as the lower pair of his arms unfold and bare their own cruel, curved claws. Hefting the spear that he'd allowed to rest in the dust and pustules at his side, He Who Meddles leans forward and easily begins scaling down the cliffside with the ease that of a spider might have creeping across the wall.

If this were to be a competition, so be it. He had no intention of losing it to a rival, here in the heart of his home and with a quarry so easily claimed. He offers Nepenthe one last glare, mandibles click-clicking together in tandem even as the distance between himself and the tarnished begins to close.

[ferinehuntress]

˚ * ˙ ⭒ ⊱ Once You're Stripped Clean, What's at your core?

◈　CAUTERIZING RAGE

the house has burned around you, and you’re the only one left standing. is it gratifying to be the survivor? fear and anger are weapons in your capable hands, used only to serve your agenda of fighting back when deemed necessary. you're a powerful person, built from the ashes of your despair and your family's mistakes. with time, you'll bloom into someone softer, like the full blossoms that grow each spring and wither away with the leaves in fall. they won't disappear if you take your eyes off of them. you're enough.

◈　SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL

you try so hard to be a beacon of hope for everyone, but nobody’s a beacon of hope for you. most likely, someone’s betrayed you in the past. it’s not like you’re easy to walk over, you just believe(d) too much in the inherent good of people. that isn’t a bad thing, and there’s nothing wrong with being kind and forgiving… i just feel kind of bad for you. i hope you can get a friend who doesn’t fuck with your head and take advantage of your kindness for once.

◈　ANIMAL INTUITION

loyalty is the saint you pray to. if you ever were stabbed in the back by your beloved, you'd probably apologize. to your enemies, you're fierce. to your allies, even fiercer. you cultivate a thick inner circle built on promises and devotion, fit only for the best of the best. it's impossible for most to even begin to dissect the type of person you are, owing to your unbreakable emotional walls and confusing philosophies. dream careers? body guard, movie star, unwitting pawn. don't let people get the best of that loyalty.

◈　RESOUNDING TRUTH

you have a goal in mind, and others brush it off right away... why does everyone always tell you to follow your dreams when it's actually their dreams that they want you to follow? your memory is weak, and your conviction is even weaker on days when you're reminded of how alone you really are. it's hard to go on without someone pushing you forward... is this what life is? a cycle of monotony, fueled only by the desire not to trouble anyone too much with your passing? it would be nice to have something, or someone, to spur you on. i hope you find them.

◈　WARPED METAL

it’s not working out the way you want it to. no matter how hard you try to look scary, the very picture of karmic retribution, your efforts will inevitably fall short. you’re out of place here, a broken doll and a used marionette. there’s nothing to gain in pretending you can’t be hurt like anyone else. there’s nothing to gain in pretending you aren’t human, that you’re made of twisted steel and distorted memories. embrace your humanity. embrace your vulnerability. give in to trust.

❥ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘　 ⋯ 　no one, stolen from dashboard XD ❥ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆　 ⋯　@skyheld, @ruinouss, @jynxd, @faerunscursed, @shimmerbeasts, @isdeathlystill, @grief-worn, @harpershigh, @necrophcge, @bloodtwin, @demonswcb, @deathswcrn, @dalishflame, @girlmortis, @karmints, and anyone else who wants to.

[rotten-pest]

A meeting

@necrophcge If there was one thing she wished she’d learn more quickly, as that she was no longer in a position to assume relative safety.

But she did already understand that humans became off-put of someone overly dirty, or covered in blood and viscera, or otherwise foul smelling, and at the time that had taken more precedent over her usual precautions, so off she’d gone in search for water. Admittedly however she was reticent to enter once she found it. The shallow stream was calm, murmuring quietly. A bird overhead chirruped softly between moments of dipping down to grab flying insects that hovered over the waters edge. Her kind could not really swim, breathing through spiracles as they did—save the larva, who actually needed to be kept damp otherwise their gills would dry out. At least, such was as she understood, she hadn’t been given the duty of care of the young ones.

She sighed. No good reflecting on any of that. She removed her armor and set it aside, peeling off the outermost layers of her clothes to start washing, but hesitated again. She slid her feet in the water, recoiling briefly at the cold, but found it grew comfortable with time.

Cotesia ran her hand on the surface, peering through to the scattered rocks below. Fish darted away from her hand, but returned as soon as she stilled it. A little crayfish scuttled along the bottom.

The bird stopped singing suddenly. All grew quiet.

Cotesia picked her head up, heart began to beat faster—but she waited. Listened. Glanced where her swords were, maybe just one good leap away—but she couldn’t react, just yet.

She turned her head, slowly, so just the barest sliver of her peripheral vision caught the ominous shape behind her...

[yellowfingcr]

tagged by: @hexenjagd, @necrophcge, and @tacetnix 🎉 tagging: I'm beyond late to this- steal it from me!

NAME: // Bri! But heysel-mun works!

PRONOUNS: // I'm one of those she/they :]

MOST ACTIVE MUSE(S)? // Heysel, most definitely! I have another oc with her own blog on this site, but I haven't been active on it in some time now. I have so many ocs in my head all the time but only two hands, and so little focus

RP PET PEEVES? // The usual ones, all related to sometimes forgetting that we're all here to write our fictional little guys together as equal collaborators respecting each other! Though again I think in most cases it's not done intentionally

EXPERIENCE / HOW MANY YEARS? // I think it's over ten years now, all on this site in some shape or another! 🥴

FLUFF, ANGST, OR SMUT? // What if I said angst AND fluff... I like to write sweetness and I love to write pain! But there has to be a balance because I get tired easily of writing the same flavor of things. As for smut... I'm terribly shy! And can you imagine it. Smut with my writing style. All slow and introspective and purple prosey. Please

PLOTS OR MEMES? // Both? Both is good! I'm now at a phase of my life in which I do however lean towards plotting though- makes things much easier!

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES? // I tend towards the long side! I'm very very bad at condensing writing

TIME TO WRITE? // Whenever the possibility for some privacy and brain permit, at this point! Because I'm tired so frequently and just as frequently not given much chance to focus on something for long times as I share my spaces with other people (AND I'm the slowest writer around) it means that replies usually get done very late orz. my apologies!

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S)? // To the normal degree one is usually reflected in their ocs, I'd say! Both me and heysel are funnywomen and move slugs out of the road and back into the grass

[shimmerbeasts]

The air in the little gorge was ripe with the smell of death. The thick, iron tang of the blood coated the gaps between trees and across sheets of grass as viscous as the red liquid, which smeared across the grass, clung to leaves on bushes and branches and stuck to tree barks as intense as maple syrup. The cocktail was completed by the stink of decaying goblin corpses and gore. It was enough to make any passerby throw up.

Mizora, though, thought it was the sweetest odour, she had ever smelled. Half concealed in the shades of the trees, her corpse-blue body obscured by the bushes, her red eyes drank in the scene before her. By all accounts, it was a masterpiece. Goblin carcasses lay strewn about. Some had lost limbs or heads in the scuffle. Quite a few showed deformations in their bodies, bent ribs, snapped spines, dislodged elbows and knees. Some of them had the harrowing marks of traps penetrating their calves and ankles, showing that the killer of this scene had been thorough.

The killer was still standing in the massacre, gorging himself on the meat, which he stripped from the bones with jerking motions of their head. His hunched-over posture and exaggeratedly lanky limbs made Mizora think of a praying mantis. Even the way he skittered from place to had something insect-like to it. The long, jagged claws, he had to call nails, proved that not even his tattered clothing and that shotty, hand-made spear, he logged around with himself, could hide what he truly was. Demons could only pretend to be humanoid for so long. Eventually, the chaotic urges always won.

"I am surprised you caught that smell, given that your little bloodbath here overshadows everything else."

Mizora appeared behind the demon as if she had grown out of the ground. Her blue dress shimmered like a piece of the night sky above them, the gilded belt positively sparkling. Her wings rustled before they came to rest upon her back. Her smile was sharp and cutting, prominently displaying her fangs.

"So, tell me, what does a demon like you do so far away from the Abyss?"

@shimmerbeasts

It had been some time since He Who Meddles had actively hidden amongst mortals, and doing so in the company of those who'd been inflicted with mindflayer tadpoles was proving to be an exercise in restraint. No one thought anything of his spells nor the lugged spear he wielded, but the urge to slaughter wholesale would no doubt be met with scrutiny. Restraint meant shelving the need-hunger, at least until he could indulge when none of them would expect or notice.

Such as when camp was made for the night. Whilst the other members of the party could content themselves with settling in for the evening or bickering with one another, there would be no more ample a time to stray into the wilderness proper in search of prey. Though the True Souls and the prizes nestled within their skulls remained out of reach for the time being, tucked away behind the walls of that desecrated temple and guarded night and day by their fanatical goblins, the same couldn't be said for the roving bands that emerged by moonlight in search of the druid's grove. What low cunning and guile the goblin rabble possessed made up for their less than appetizing taste, and if nothing else their cries of alarm and terror could be quite amusing.

He Who Meddles wondered what they must have been thinking when he revealed himself, covered in the blood and gore of their comrades and wearing one of their faces. Did they pray to the Absolute for deliverance as they tried to fight against him in that meager way of theirs? Were those that attempted to flee plagued with guilt at abandoning their brothers-in-arms, or did they only curse his name when they realized he had laid traps enough to ensure they could run but never escape? How frail were the spirits and wills of these mortals, so easily crushed and bent before the desires of the strong...

Needless to say, they were slaughtered to the last with ease. Only the last of them, a barrel-chested bugbear wielding a morningstar, proved to be worth even a moment of excitement. Even for as hard as she fought, it was perhaps a mere minute or so before boredom overtook him, and she joined the others in being torn apart in a flurry of fell-handed blows and gnashing claws. Her terrified expression was immortalized in death as He Who Meddles wrenched the head from her shoulders, and he took a moment to savor it before tossing it aside in favor of looking over her corpse.

"If your intention was to obscure yourself from me, stinking of Avernus was the worst mistake you could have made." Without so much as a hint of struggle, the still disguised demon began to drag the cooling bugbear to one of the stouter trees by the foot. Blood smeared the forest floor, then splattered across the bark of the oak as He Who Meddles flung the corpse onto one of the lower boughs, the sound of its back breaking not so much as eliciting a twitch from the face of the goblin he wore. "Reveal yourself. Such a poor attempt at stalking me is nauseating, devil."

[yellowfingcr]

15 lines of dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

tagged by: @oathloathed & @rotten-pest, thank you ;w;

tagging: @necrophcge, @fishermcn, @sihilkaah, @miserycorde, @starcaller-scholar, and YOU, yes you

"Why such rush? Do stay! Time nips not at your heels, friend. Warm your bones, breathe a little. The world can concede a moment's respite to you; concede it to yourself."

"Name's Heysel! I'm a wanderer, arcane scholar, mediocre player of gittern, collector of fascinating dry leaves, and appreciator of poor jokes. In short, no one of note."

"I also happen to be an assassin. Believe me when I say that it's not the most important detail about myself. Tell me of yourself, rather!"

"The ghost dog's presence is not negotiable, I'm afraid."

"Ha! You again! A delight to see you, and whole at that! Will you believe me if I said I was just thinking about you?"

"Here. As a reward for... well, the never so obvious task of surviving! Choose a hand. One is empty, the other has something for you."

"Never expect a crab to share a thing with you. They're quite shellfish."

"Beautiful night, isn't it? I'm still not used to a static sky! Makes me want to extend my arms and try to pluck stars out of the black even more than when I was a child. I so wanted to grab them. I so wanted to place one inside my mouth, then bite down and feel the cold sour-bright flavor of it burst on my tongue."

"Friend! You live still. More rewards for you hidden in the correct hand. Buuut! Only if you first tell me what do you think of this whole... mission you've been tasked with. Saving the world. Fixing it, rather. You've been pondering it, surely? Unless you're just chasing bloodlust. I do not judge, either way."

"Come on now. I'm just a little guy. I'm a just a little guy, and it's also my birthday."

"I just can't help but think- is this right? To kill and kill and kill until you stand bloodied and alone on that throne. To conquer the power to change wholly the face of history through a violence so perfect none are left to oppose you. Is it right? It's exactly what's demanded of you."

"I do miss my hometown. Something of Sellia remains, sure. I suppose a pile of stone and ghosts is better than nothing."

"Don't give me that look. Of course I have my secrets! It's the best part about me!"

"I'm not a good person. This is not an attempt at teasing soothing words out of your lips but a mere passing of a sentence I believe in. A letter of sorts, seal-closed. Keep it in mind, is all I ask."

"A word, if I may steal a moment of your time. I have, ah... a request, if I may be so bold. At one point of your journey you might feel like you're about to face something final. An event the likes of which no one will come back from the same. And I ask that you call for me. Take me with you. I'd like to present. Please."

[rotten-pest]

15 lines of dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Swiped from: @izar-tarazed

This was interesting because Cotesia is only some times chatty. For this I envisioned if Cotesia were an NPC in game.

NPC-esque Dialog lines

“Ah, well met, fellow traveler. How nice it is to meet one another. What brings you here?”

“I? I am following the path of the Unsevered. Time has a way of muddying such trails, but I am not easily deterred.”

“I am loathed to admit it, but you have my thanks…”

“Ah, I see. You think I’ve something for you? You will be disappointed. It’s a shame your sort don’t stay dead, your corpse would nourish the earth so sweetly…”

“Rest, for now… stupid meat bag…”

“All is forgiven. Such is the way of things, little bird... But. Don’t. Do that. Again. Or I will make your next death a long and unpleasant one.”

“… I… won’t… die… not until she—”

“All things must come to an end. All things must die. I hope, little bird, you make way for a world for what once died to bloom again, and die, and bloom, forevermore…”

Other things

“I am naught but what I am. And what I am is the point of the scorpion’s tail.”

“How terrible it is to love something death can touch.”

“Come here, closer… If you do not get out of my way, I have no qualms about leaving you dead in the dirt too. Now, is there something more you wished to say? Or do you tire of wasting breath?”

“That was needlessly reckless. You are stupid. And yet, the help is appreciated nonetheless…"

“Think of rot less like poison—poison is a natural artifact of the world, a defensive substance imbued in flesh, or breath… Scarlet rot is but the world’s desperate scrambling for life and death to resume unfettered. In another world, perhaps it’d draw to life that which should not have stayed dead. But in this world, where gold is worthless with its abundance, well… the rot consumes.”

“How does that work?”

“Can you teach me?”

Tagging: @miserycorde @yellowfingcr @necrophcge @hexenjagd @fishermcn and anyone else who'd like this!