#prophet wip

[tracle0]

Hi I promise I do still write!!! Prophet story for you, introducing - the Hero(TM)!!!

[roostercrowned]

right arm is under a Curse where it can only produce trash right now, but left-handed Fat Suffices scene? ok???

[shripscapi]

the frogeaters 🌿

[knizuu]

Prophet AU fans im coming back IM GOING HOME TO PROPHET AU GUYS-

[shadowhaert]

once i took your medication to know what it’s like

and now i have to act like i can’t read your mind

[thedeafprophet]

(wip) Maymie sketch because two different people sent me this pose so i had to do it lmao

[officialpropheticnightmares]

OWNER - WIP 2 (Lyrical Version)

It's coming along, to say the least!

Suffocation, Hesitation Get down on your knees in my basement

Break your legs for the sweet sensation Take advantage of your oral fixation

(Rest of the lyrics in the desc on the link)

[avoicebehindthestars]

(I don't normally share WIPs because I'm notoriously afraid of the pressure of people's expectations. This time I was tempted by how ironically fitting this excerpt became. I wrote it tonight, but I had plotted it months ago and this was always how it was meant to play out. But shit, I could never have expected for it to hit so close to home ><

Please don't ask me when this fic is going to be complete and/or posted. I'm committed to finishing it but I can promise nothing, especially as things are right now.)

Kokabiel sighed, looking with chagrin at his final creation. It was tiny on the cosmic scale, merely a dwarf, its light red and dim. They could hardly feel the heat emitted by its idle release of energy. Aziraphale held the Starmaker’s palms a little more firmly, their star absorbing one final spot of closeness to its two celestial fathers before they allowed it to float away, the merciless forces of interstellar gravity settling it into the physical realm, somewhere in the direction of what was going to become the Solar system. Kokabiel let out a barely audible sob as he watched. ‘I know it’s not even close to what you imagined,’ Aziraphale whispered. ‘It’s the smallest of all and its light is so faint compared to the others. But it is there. Despite it all, despite the Metatron himself. You still managed to put it there.’ ‘We managed to put it there,’ Kokabiel corrected, looking back at the Cherub and granting him a sincere, though pained smile.

an excerpt from I Watched You Hang the Stars ch4 (WIP, unpublished) by AVoiceBehindTheStars

[ninawolv3rina]

Not to be dramatic but I’m obsessed with her

OC: Rowena (she/her)

[tracle0]

look upon ye mighty and despair

hey did you know I've never done a comic sans intro for any version of this story? That's insane

[voxofthevoid]

Vore Wednesday#2—revamped 🦷

Tumblr ate my original post for this, which I found out last week while looking up that snippet for an ask response. Since it'll be July or something before your resistance, prophetic self-destruction goes up on Ao3, I figured I might as well reinstate the post.

For folks who haven't seen this before, here's the fic I started the WIP Wednesday snippets for. It's kinda wild remembering how quiet the JJK side of my blog was back then. For folks who have already read this, there's still new material since I've doubled the length of the excerpt.

(Links for Snippet 1 and Snippet 3)

Have some chosoita ft. Gojou and goyuu:

He mouths at a bruise, too much teeth for it to be soothing, but Chōsō pushes his chest into it anyway, his fingers curling into a fist in Yuuji’s hair.

Yuuji digs his teeth in harder before letting go, dragging his lips up to Chōsō’s shoulder. The skin there is pulled taut over straining muscles, and they flex under his mouth, almost a flinch. Yuuji can understand why, given what he did the last few times he set his teeth to Chōsō’s shoulder. But he also knows it’s not dread that’s trembling in Chōsō’s muscles but anticipation.

He sucks lightly, and Chōsō shudders against him, around him.

Yuuji’s mouth waters.

It’s fucked up. He shouldn’t like this. He doesn’t even know if he actually does. He sure as hell isn’t hungry. And he said he’d eat anything, but not like this—this isn’t power, it’s just pleasure. And it shouldn’t be.

Monster, purrs a voice in his head, infuriatingly familiar because despite ripping free of Yuuji’s body, that bastard is still here haunting his mind. 

But fine. Yuuji will be the monster.

He clamps his teeth around Chōsō’s flesh, tearing out a bloody chunk.

Chōsō jerks against him, crying out hoarsely. His dick’s leaking where it’s pressed between their bellies, making a mess of what’s left of their clothes. Yuuji swallows, mouth still pressed to the hotly bleeding wound at Chōsō’s shoulder. He’s keenly aware of Chōsō’s cursed energy mingling with his own, and it’s not the revitalizing rush it was back in Shibuya when Chōsō was making a concerted attempt to transfer it to Yuuji, but even in this passive state, his power is potent and it burns inside Yuuji—blood and rot, life and decay.

Under his lips, Chōsō’s flesh is starting to knit back together. Yuuji licks at it, blood wetting his tongue, and Chōsō squirms on his cock, scrabbling at Yuuji’s shoulders as if that will give him any leverage. Yuuji bites deep into the healing flesh.

Chōsō gasps his name like a curse and a prayer.

“Well,” says a voice that is distinctly not Chōsō’s, “this isn’t what I was expecting.”

Yuuji freezes, but so does Chōsō, and that’s a bad idea given the position they’re in. His dick doesn’t care that Yuuji’s veins just iced over; the blood fattening it up is as hot as anything, as the blood still slicking his mouth.

He lifts his face from Chōsō’s mangled shoulder, staring over it at the dark room. The only illumination is the faint moonlight from the open window, but Yuuji’s eyes adjusted to the darkness long back. He can see all too well the figure slouching in the darkness by the door—the still-locked door, which sure as hell didn’t open and close without either Yuuji or Chōsō noticing it.

But when has a paltry door ever stopped Gojou Satoru? How many times did Yuuji wake in his dorm room to find a body looming over him, a mouth stifling his shout before it could rend the air and probably bring Fushiguro running?

“Gojou-sensei,” Yuuji chokes out. “What are you doing? Why are you here?”

Gojou shifts, pushing away from the wall he was leaning against. He’s still not wearing his blindfold, and his eyes are eerily bright in the dark, as if they’re generating their own light. It leaves the rest of his face discomfitingly shadowed.

It’s perverse how the sight makes Yuuji’s dick twitch where it’s buried inside a frozen Chōsō.

And it’s Chōsō Gojou is staring at, appraising his half-dressed body with a hot, heavy regard that doesn’t feel sexual so much as predatory, and Yuuji feels his heart lurch to his throat when those gleaming eyes linger on Chōsō’s shoulder and slide slowly, inexorably to Yuuji’s gore-stained mouth.

“Six Eyes,” Chōsō hisses, voice low and furious; he’s turned his head, probably glaring at Gojou. “Get out.”  

A curse, maybe a warning, dies in Yuuji’s throat, his thundering heart still plugging it up. He stares at the taut line of Chōsō’s throat, then at Gojou’s dangerously bland smile. Back and forth, over and over.

“No, I don’t think I will,” says Gojou, and Yuuji knows the particular edge of that serrated amusement on his tongue, and he can’t help how his fingers sink into Chōsō’s hips, gripping hard enough to make Chōsō’s legs twitch around him. And it hits him then, more of a shock than it should be: Chōsō’s still on his cock, Yuuji’s still— “To answer your question, Yuuji, I came here—ran here, really, because I’m a good teacher like that—because I sensed your cursed energy doing some freaky shit. And him, of course. This isn’t what I thought I’d see, but you definitely don’t look like you’re in need of a rescue.”

His eyes drop pointedly to where Chōsō is seated on Yuuji’s cock.

The traitorous thing throbs.

Chōsō makes a soft, shuddering noise.

“I…” Yuuji tails off. What the fuck can he say?

I can explain? He can’t.

I’m sorry? He’s not.

And he can’t do that to Chōsō, especially not when Yuuji’s the one who dragged him into this.

“Yuuji’s brother, was it?” Gojou asks mildly, not a question at all. “Now, I don’t know how it is for curses, but among us lowly humans, this kind of thing is pretty pathological.”

“Sensei!” Yuuji snaps before he can help himself.

The full, furious force of Gojou’s attention descends on him, freezing him twice over.

Gojou takes a step forward, then another.

Chōsō grows impossibly tenser, warm marble in Yuuji’s arms and a molten constriction around his cock. But Yuuji can only watch Gojou’s slow, stalking approach with a strange sort of exhilarated horror.

Gojou comes to a stop right behind Chōsō, whose discomfort writhes in the air. Yuuji meets his eyes for a fleeting moment, helpless need crashing into helpless fury. There’s nothing Chōsō can do, impaled on Yuuji’s cock with Yuuji’s hands holding him down.

I’m sorry, Yuuji wants to say, but he already knows, doesn’t he, that Chōsō will forgive him anything?

Above Chōsō’s head, Gojou’s eyes blaze blue.

Yuuji runs into them headfirst.

An arm reaches over Chōsō’s shoulder, carefully not brushing skin. Chōsō tenses anyway, pulling a throaty whine out of Yuuji that’s crushed the next instant by the fingers curling around his jaw, too tender to be anything but cruel.

Gojou’s thumb wipes the blood off Yuuji’s lips.

For a moment, they all seem to stare at it.

“Six Eyes,” Chōsō growls, and it’s angry, almost as angry as he was the one and only time he tried to kill Yuuji, but underneath that, there’s something Yuuji can only label fear.

“Yuuji’s brother,” Gojou returns, calm and deadly. “Hush now. My business isn’t with you.”

Chōsō jolts, furious, but maybe he forgets he’s still sitting on Yuuji’s cock because the motion makes them both groan—Chōsō obviously failing to stifle it, Yuuji too far gone to even try.

Gojou’s pupils grow cavernous.

Motion, a blinding blur.

Lips press to Yuuji’s, and they don’t belong to the body now crushed against his own. It’s the most aggressive kiss he’s ever had, even if it’s close-lipped and three seconds long. He gasps into it, but Gojou’s already pulling back, and Yuuji doesn’t think it has anything to do with the spikes of blood erupting from Chōsō’s torn shoulder to shatter uselessly against Infinity.

Gojou pays them—and Chōsō—no mind.

He says, “Come find me when you’re done playing with your…brother.”

And then he’s gone, an absence more sudden and absolute than his appearance earlier.

“Fuck,” Yuuji says, softy and with feeling; his whole mouth is burning, electric.

“Yuuji,” Chōsō says tightly, “you need to—”

Let go, is what he probably plans to say. Pull out, maybe.

Yuuji doesn’t do either, doesn’t even let him finish, standing in a violent rush that strangles Chōsō’s words and Yuuji’s common sense both, and it’s a few, harried strides to the door, Chōsō’s back impacting it with a loud thud that reverberates in the too-quiet room.  

Chōsō’s answering shudder bites into Yuuji’s cock.

“What are you doing?” he asks, a strained, barely audible whisper.

Yuuji kisses him because he doesn’t have an answer, fucks into him because he doesn’t want the questions, and Chōsō gasps into his mouth and tightens around his cock, and Yuuji’s body knows how to take it from there, even if his mind is a maelstrom of white and blue.

Are you there, are you listening, is this what you—

A particularly harsh thrust makes Chōsō rake his nails down Yuuji’s back, and Yuuji hoists him higher in response, fingers digging bruises into thick, taut thighs, and it’s better, the angle, Chōsō held at just the right height for Yuuji to plunge madly into, and he growls, the sound half lost in their wet, open mouths, but Chōsō still claws him open and squeezes him tighter, and there’s a cry thrust down Yuuji’s throat—a hurt little noise.

What am I doing, why am I punishing him—

Why is he angry?

[cc-writes-stuff]

Heads Up Seven Up!

Thanks @frostedlemonwriter for the tag! Here’s seven lines from chapter nine of away from hallowed ground!

Paya frowns, but leans forward and takes it. Flips it around. The frown on her face gets deeper.

“Is that cursive?” She asks, handing the notebook to Camilla. Scowls at Theodore. “I can’t read that shit.”

Camilla, too, frowns at it. “This is… hmm…”

Theodore sighs. “Here, let me.”

Not too much action, just the gang trying to read Theodore’s fancy-ass handwriting lol.

Tagging the following people if they want to join! @tracle0 @ryns-ramblings @notwritinganyflufftoday @daisywords @aurumni-writes and anyone who wants to join in!

[caughtinthefireagain]

Ron grinned. “You cheeky little–” He planted both palms firmly on the ground, then moved forward to close the gap between them. 

In an instant, he had pressed his lips to hers.

Pansy tasted like sweetness and cigarettes. As soon as their lips touched, all rational thought ceased. This was so much better than their kiss during the silly party game last year, or their stolen kiss in the broom closet. This was real. It was a new beginning.

Pansy’s whole body reacted, closing any remaining space between them by boldly pressing her chest into his. When she wrapped her arms around his neck, Ron thought he might die of happiness right then.

Never had he experienced a more perfect moment. Ron’s movements were tentative, at first; he moved his fingers gently through her soft raven hair while his tongue darted into her mouth, her full lips caressing his. The feel of her supple lips parting under his was enough to make his knees go weak. Ron groaned; he felt his cock harden when Pansy opened her mouth wider to welcome him, her tongue reaching out to meet his own.

She let out a soft sigh as he pulled her closer, his hands trailing down her body to lay his palms on her gorgeous bum; he squeezed her arse through her skirt, and she groaned into their kiss, wiggling her hips into him. 

Gods, her arse is perfect.

Ron gazed down in awe as his hands roamed over her soft skin, hardly believing that such a beauty could want him. 

Too fast, Ron thought, Does she want…?

He broke the kiss and shifted so that Pansy was sitting on his lap. When he looked down into her wide green eyes, he found himself searching them for any sign of regret. Ron saw a cocktail of emotions in her face - fear, desire, uncertainty - and suddenly he couldn’t speak. They stared at each other in silence, breathless and panting from the intensity of their kiss.

Pansy’s whole body was on fire; she could feel Ron’s erection through his robes, and she’d never felt more warm and safe than she did in the present moment, wrapped in his embrace. She could see his nervousness written all over his face, and felt a slight tremble in his hands. His beautiful, clear blue eyes searched hers, the question he was too afraid to voice so clear to her.

Do you want me?

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Pansy didn’t think about what her friends would say, or her hellish engagement, or even the years of bad history that she shared with the strong, handsome redhead who held her so tenderly. 

Fuck it, thought Pansy, feeling reckless. If this is the closest I can get to happiness, I’ll fucking take it.

The answer is yes.

Pansy placed her palms on either side of Ron’s face and pulled his head in towards her for a passionate kiss. 

When Ron’s tongue gently pressed its way into her mouth, she let out a small sigh, her soft thighs tensing in his lap. Ron held her, gentle but firm in his grasp. He didn’t want to let her go. He spoke everything he felt for her into his kiss, everything he couldn’t say out loud: how beautiful he thought she was, how smart and sexy. That he would give her anything she wanted. That he would give up everything he had to make her his.

.............................................................................................................................

Excerpt from Chapter 13 of Matched by Caughtinthefireagain on Ao3

[eriquin]

The Prophetic D&D Game

I'm going to try something new and post bits on tumblr instead of straight to ao3. We'll see how far I get. Tagging @2btheanswertothequestion because she was interested.

Now with Part 2

“All right, Hellfire club, listen up. I’ve got a new campaign for you,” Eddie said as he swept into the room. He’d arrived late and looked harried.

“Yeah, duh,” Gareth said. “We spent all of last week making characters for your Cult of Vecna run.”

“No, not that.” Eddie shoved at the character sheets in front of them all. “Put those away, this is something different.”

“What the hell?” Jeff asked. “If we’re not playing Cult of Vecna then why did you give Grant so much shit on Monday about missing it?”

“Bup-bup-bup!” Eddie said, putting one hand in front of Jeff’s face as the other dropped a lumpy canvas bag onto the table. “I didn’t know on Monday what I know now. He’s still a dipshit for missing Hellfire but that just means he doesn’t get to participate in my newest bout of brilliance.”

The three youngest Hellfire members glanced at each other nervously. “Uh, what’s going on?” Dustin asked cautiously. “What are we playing instead?”

Eddie straightened up and drew a folder from his bag. “Gentlemen! I have been struck by inspiration. This new run came to me in a dream, and I spent the past two days developing it—”

“This is why you skipped?” Gareth crossed his arms. “Dude, you’re going to fail again!”

Eddie gasped with dramatic offense and clasped his hand to his heart. “Just for that, Gareth, you pick your character last!” 

Gareth rolled his eyes. “Oh, you made the characters, too? Christ, you’re such a dictator.” 

“No more backtalk from you,” Eddie said. He flailed in Gareth’s direction with the folder but didn’t hit him. He sighed and grabbed the edge of his throne to pull it closer to the table. “And I didn’t make all the details of the characters. I just started them out. You can pick what they look like and all that jazz.” He opened the folder and took out a stack of papers to pass around.

Mike, sitting just to his left, took the stack from him. “Joe the human fighter? With a spiked club for a weapon? Huh. His charisma’s awful high, isn’t it?” 

“Just share them with the group, Wheeler,” Eddie said. “I’m going to make you all roll to see who picks first, except for Gare-bear here because he’s judgemental.” 

Mike put the stack in the middle of the table and they each picked up a character to read over. The group was quiet for a minute as they read through the pages. Lucas spoke up first. “So what kind of story is it?” he asked.

“I’m glad you asked, Sinclair,” Eddie said. He stood up and started to circle the table. “A terrible tragedy has rocked your little castle town. There’s been a grisly murder, and there’s something almost ritualistic about it. The guards have someone they suspect, but this group of intrepid adventures has information about what really happened. They know that the guards won’t believe them, and they have to act fast if they want to prevent more deaths.”

“So, it’s a murder mystery?” Dustin asked. “That sounds awesome.”

Eddie grinned down at him as he stretched his arms out over the backs of Lucas and Jeff’s chairs. “It is, and it isn’t. There’s definitely something sinister and supernatural afoot.” 

“Wait. Half of these characters are chicks,” Mike said with a sneer. 

“As is half of the population, Wheeler,” Eddie said. He looked completely unimpressed with Mike’s attitude. “What’s your point?”

“There’s only three guys to pick from, and there’s five of us. Do you really expect us to play as girls?” 

Eddie gave him another deadpan look before turning to Gareth. “Gare-bear, you’re no longer picking last. Wheeler is.” 

“Hey!” Mike yelled.

“Ha!” Gareth pointed at him and grinned. “I will admit that this sounds intriguing. You haven’t answered the question about how long we’ll be playing this, though.” 

Eddie scratched his head as he walked back to his throne. “I think it’s probably only a session or two? Depends on what you guys do with it.” He steepled his fingers and peered at his players. “So, are you all in?”

There were some shrugs and a round of silent communication around the table. “I still want to play Cult of Vecna,” Jeff said, “but I didn’t really want to start it without Grant. So yeah, I’m in.” 

“I love murder mysteries, so I’m definitely in,” Dustin said. 

Lucas nodded enthusiastically while Mike let out a very put-upon sigh and threw up his hands as he conceded that it sounded okay. True to form, Eddie made each of them roll to see who went first for picking a character. He snatched up Mike’s die before it landed and tutted at him. “I wasn’t kidding about you picking last, Wheeler.” 

“Aww, come on,” Mike said. “I don’t want to play a girl.”

Lucas had rolled the highest number. He shook his head at Mike. “To be honest, I don’t want to see Mike play a girl either,” he said. “It would probably be offensive.” 

“Point made, Sinclair,” Eddie said. “Who are you picking?”

Lucas grinned and reached across the table for one of the character sheets. “Sadie the thief,” he said. 

“Really? Not going to be a fighter this time?” Dustin asked. 

“Nah, Sadie looked cool. Kind of reminds me of someone, you know?” He picked up the character sheet and set it in front of him. 

“Dusty-buns!” Eddie said cheerfully.

“One time,” Dustin muttered. “You heard my mom call me that one time...”

“You’re up next. Who are you picking?” 

“I’m gonna go for the thief,” Dustin said. “Gaten the halfling. He sounds cool.” 

“I thought you’d like him,” Eddie said. He stood up and leaned over the table to watch as Jeff flipped through the four remaining characters. “What are you thinking, Jeffster?”

Jeff hummed to himself. “It’s an investigation, right? I think I’ll go with Caleb. It says he’s a junior member of the town guard... Could be useful.” 

“Excellent choice, Jeffinald. How about you, Gare-bear? We are down to three options.”

Gareth stood up so he could take a better look at the three remaining character sheets. “Did you write one up for Grant, too? Even though he wouldn’t be here?”

“No, these are just the ones I needed for the story,” Eddie said. “I actually have a seventh PC that will be introduced later in the story, if you all make it that far. If Grant wants, he can join us.” 

“Fascinating,” Gareth said. “What do you think, all? Should I pick the fighter and make Mike speak in a falsetto for the rest of the campaign?” 

Dustin rolled his eyes. “He’s going to be insufferable if you do.” 

“Hey, I’m right here!” Mike said. 

“Yeah, and he’s already insufferable,” Lucas added.

“You guys are just—”

“Well just for that!” Gareth said loudly, slapping his hand down on the table. The freshmen jumped in place. He grinned at their reaction. “I, frankly, have no problem playing a lady. I will be Maya, the lovely magic user. Both her and Natalia seem more interesting than the fighter.” He slid the last two character sheets across the table to Mike.

Everyone turned to watch him evaluate the options. “Wait, Natalia’s an elven cleric? I thought elves couldn’t be clerics.”

“DM’s discretion,” Eddie said. “A lot of those class and ability restrictions are a load of crap. Do we really think elves aren’t in tune with the gods? That’s just dumb.”

“Yeah, you know we have some house rules,” Jeff said. 

Mike as he read the sheets some more. “Wait, these two used to be married?” 

“Engaged,” Eddie said. “Separated because Natalia was too devoted to her career. But maybe there’s something to be rekindled there?” 

Mike let out a noise of disgust. “Ugh, I don’t want to play any romance in D&D. Come on.” He sighed and picked up both character sheets. “What happens to the one I don’t pick? Do they still appear in the story?”

“Yeah, they’ll be an NPC. I’ll voice them and everything.” Eddie smirked. “So make good choices, because you’ll be dealing with the repercussions either way.” 

Back and forth, Mike’s eyes darted between the two characters. “I can’t decide!” he whined. “They’re both good fighters. Natalia is smarter and has spells, but Joe is stronger and has cooler gear.”

“Jesus, just pick so we can get playing,” Dustin muttered. He was already filling in description details for his character. 

Jeff rapped his knuckles on the table to get Mike’s attention. “If you really can’t pick, just flip a coin.”

“Okay, fine!” Mike said, throwing his hands in the air. He picked up his twenty-sided die and tapped the character sheet for Natalia. “High,” he said. Then he tapped the one for Joe. “Low.” He rolled.

It landed on an eight.

“And through the power of random probability, Mike Wheeler will not be questioning his gender identity tonight,” Eddie said as Mike handed him back Natalia’s character sheet. 

“Oh, this means we have no healer,” Gareth said with a frown. “Well, at least Mike’s fighter is a front-liner and will probably die first.” 

“And mine,” Jeff said. “I’m a fighter, too.”

“You have higher dex,” Gareth said. “Get a bow, stand behind Joe the brutal over there, and let him take the hits.” 

“So are we ready to play?” Dustin asked, sounding impatient. 

“Almost, almost,” Eddie said with a broad smile that generally meant he had something planned. “Everyone familiar with their characters? Generally happy with them? Or at least comfortable?” He got a round of nodding heads and noises of agreement. His smile turned a little bit wicked as he said, “Great. Here are the real character sheets, and all their secrets. It’ll be up to you if you want to share them.”

[vivifriend]

WIP Whenever

Was tagged by @pitiable-arisen and @bostoniangirl21. Thank you. 💖 Thought I wouldn't have anything this week. I've just been eking by with the weather and all. But we got a cold front in, and I can breathe again so I'm in a better mood! *Knock on wood.*

Now I have no idea who's done wip this week or not so, consider this a friendly poke if you wanted one to share. :D

It's not Skyrim but instead ESO. Arinadette. Breton assassin who relies on their looks to get close to their targets. (still trying to figure out a gender neutral term for 'femme fatale' for when they're not gussying up in dresses and makeup).

However, Mannimarco and his worm cult have just tossed a rather nasty twist in their path...

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"Heal swiftly, Vestige. I will look into ways to rescue Lyris from her prison. She should not suffer for having aided my escape."

"I'm going to hazard a guess you can find me anywhere at this point?" they asked glumly, shifting their shoulders uncomfortably, their mouth tacky.

"Do not fear that I will judge you based on what I may find." He chuckled. "Do not forget that I cannot see to make those judgements."

"Marginal comfort," they said dryly. "Very well. I owe Lyris as well, so if I can aid her in escaping, I'll do what I can."

"It pleases me to hear that," he said quietly. "Akatosh watch over you."

"I'd rather he not," they murmured, watching him disappear, turning to Sharp. "So..., I suppose you have questions?"

He scowled, crossing his arms and leaning back on his heels, his eyes boring into them. "A great many. The first is, what possessed you to go look for that benefactor in the first place? I warned you it was likely a trap."

 "I told you. The contact was familiar. I thought I recognized her from somewhere. And I thought I was prepared for if it was a trap. But...,"

"What happened?" he asked, his tone shifting to concern.

"There had to have been at least four Worm Cultists there. All of them popped up behind me. And then I got to meet the great Mannimarco," they grumbled, narrowing their eyes, remembering the infamous Necromancer's face above them. Tugging at their shirt, they pulled it slightly aside, looking down at the angry red scar on their chest. "He left me a souvenir. I hope to one day repay it."

"How did you survive that?" Sharp hissed, casting one of his Warden spells.

I can do that too, you know. "It's no use. I tried healing it in Coldharbour but Lyris told me that it'd probably never fade."

"Coldharbour?" he demanded.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" they asked, reaching a hand up to rest gently against their hair. "It's a rat's nest," they whined. "I can't do anything with it like this."

"You can't do anything with your current clothing, either," Sharp pointed out, grinning when they glared at him.

"Where are we?"

"Little place called Stros M'Kai."

[officialpropheticnightmares]

OWNER - WIP

Still need to iron a lot of kinks out for this one.

So far, it's a noisy instrumental beat that devolves into disturbing dark ambient drones.

At some point I may get around to writing lyrics for the beginning.

Hope ya like it!