#nabasu

[weavercobra]

Training from Hell

This story is a follow-up to What Am I? and details what happened to Julius afterwards.

Julius Leroung stood in the small chapel of his estate, his fingers locked around the handle of a ruby knife. Slowly and meticulously, he traced the shape of a pentagram across his chest with its blade, letting the blood pour into a bowl he was holding with the other hand.

He had long gotten used to the feeling, even if cutting his skin had become notably harder since his transformation. It was a devotional ritual, of servitude and loyalty to his deity. It was proof of the power that his god had over him, an obligation and a sacrifice to those higher in the hierarchy than himself. A reaffirmation of the ladder of power. Julius knew plenty of his fellow believers who preferred to harness the blood from those they in turn had power over. But during his travels, the paracount had realised that despite being the leader, he couldn't honestly say that he considered his fellow expeditionaries to be lower than him. He was just another part, one that functioned in tandem with the others. To claim superiority would be a hollow lie.

And so, he had instead turned to a display of his own servitude to his deity rather than display his powers over others. In the end, he had gotten used to it, even starting to consider it a more humble and pious display. And given that he was planning on cashing in favours owed from Hell, reaffirming his own position in its hierarchy seemed prudent.

Dipping a finger in the blood, he drew a pentagram on the stone floor, following the lines of dried blood from earlier rituals. The sigil complete, he kneeled within it, focusing his thoughts on what he could do to serve his god.

The answer was obvious to the cleric. He'd best Ironhide and return home from a successful expedition. He'd bring honour and glory to his country, and through that, to Asmodeus. Part of him was uncertain whether that would truly be the upcoming journey, but he knew that doubt could not be allowed to shake him. He knew his Dark Lord must have a plan for him and that his setbacks had to have taught him a lesson. Certainly, it had been humbling. But he could also not deny that it had made him and the others stronger. Especially with his new draconic traits coming to the forefront.

And it was those traits he had to master if he were to have a chance. That was why he needed a teacher who would be able to push him to develop, faster and more successfully than any mortal could.

Fortunately, one advantage of his servitude was that he was occasionally rewarded with promises of future favours rendered. In this case, Julius had launched an expedition into the south purely on orders from the other side, in the process finding an ancient ruin nobody had discovered for centuries. The place was still being slowly investigated, due to a variety of local issues, but for finding it Julius had been promised aid should he ever need it.

And now he did.

With his thoughts focused, he reached out to a nearby table and grabbed a piece of paper from it. It was the precise contract he had signed back then, dense red text covering the piece from top to bottom. He held it aloft and loudly stated: “I, Julius Leroung, hereby call upon the favour I have been promised for service rendered. I call upon the gates of Hell, that I might seek the recompense that I am due. Open to me and take me to the infernal circles.” There was a tense moment of silence. And then a rumble, as a sulphuric smell spread through the room. Suddenly, crimson flames exploded in front of him, enveloping the altar.

He did not move, his draconic eyes allowing him to stare into the roiling flames without issue.

A shape bulged up from the ground, splitting open like a mouth, revealing a pulsating tunnel.

A hellgate.

Without hesitating, he put his shirt and jacket back on, before stepping in the glowing opening, sliding down the exposed passageway.

Around him, a multitude of colours passed him by as he passed from his own world into the realm of Hell, moving at great speed through the softly pulsing tunnel.

He'd never admit it, but this part was kinda fun.

Finally after he knew not how long, an opening presented itself and he slid out, landing on his feet on a soft purple carpet.

He looked around. It was a stately room, richly decorated with fine sofas, elaborate brass chandeliers and a long front desk. Several other beings of various natures sat around the room, seemingly waiting, while behind the desk hovered two devils, their upper bodies humanoid and their lower a cage of tentacles.

The cleric went over to a nearby ticket dispenser and drew a number. Then he sat down in one of the sofas, picked up a nearby magazine and began waiting.

...

Julius was unsure how much time had passed. There was no clocks, and even if there had been, he could hardly expect time in Hell to correspond perfectly with his homeland. A big window did afford him a view of the near endless infernal metropolis of Dis, but that didn't give him much of an idea either. Once his number had come up, he had quickly been by the desk to give his name and purpose for being there, before being asked to return to his seat.

He had to be armed with patience. But he was also far from bored. The stack of magazines covered a broad array of topics, from news to fashion to cooking. He was hardly interested in all of them, but it was a good way to pass time. Free cold water was dispensed from a nearby brass contraption and a bowl provided an array of exotic fruits without ever seemingly running out.

“Mr. Leroung,” one of the devils behind the desk said, looking up from her computer. “Mr. Larc will see you now. Down the hall to the right, fifth office on the left.”

“Thank you,” he responded and exited the waiting room. Beyond was a long carpeted hallway, pictures of infernal bureaucrats of note decorating the walls in-between doors. From some of the doors, soft mumbling and the clinking of glass could be heard. From others, far more visceral and wild sounds could be heard, muted by the solid doors.

Negotiations took many forms in Hell.

Finding the correct door, the paracount headed inside.

The office behind the door was a mid-sized one, with a prominent bookshelf in one end, several filing cabinets and a big desk with chairs surrounding it. Behind the desk in an imposing chair sat the devil Larc Chalice, an androgynous red-skinned humanoid in a business suit. From his back stretched several black appendages that looked much like horns, but which occasionally moved around with a faint creaking sound. “Mr. Julius Leroung,” they greeted the cleric, as he took a seat on the other side of the table. “Welcome. How has your day been?” “Just fine,” he replied.

“I hear that you have had some difficulties at home due to your new personal development. You have my sympathies,” Larc noted.

“Yes, it's been.... Challenging,” the half-dragon admitted. “But despite my concerns, Her Majestrix has chosen to retain all my services.”

“Good to hear. Now then, you were requesting recompense for a favour you did for us, yes?” the devil tapped something on his keyboard. A nearby brass printer spewed a strip of scroll paper out, which was quickly plugged by one of the fiend's long appendages. “For performing an archaeological expedition. How was that?” “A fascinating find. And quite a dangerous one,” Julius remarked. “Full canvassing of the ruins has not yet been accomplished due to numerous difficulties. Though I confess a slight curiosity as to why you wanted me to do this.”

“We trust that shall be clear in due time. You will be returning to that place, no doubt.” “I see.” The paracount furrowed his brows, but did not press the issue. If he was not to know at this point, then that was how it was.

“Now then, you were offered a favour, which you have now come to call upon,” Larc continued, studying the paper. “You have read and understood our terms of service, yes?” “Of course. Including following the reference to Entry XXIII of the chapter Favour to Greater Beings from the Codex Contractus Infernos,” Julius noted. “I am well aware of the limitations on what I can ask for. And what I have in mind is well within those limits.” “Good. So, what do you have in mind?” “I need a teacher.” “Interesting.” Larc rubbed their chin. “I imagine you have something specific in mind.” “Yes. I believe I can harness these new draconic powers of mine to best certain... Rivals I have acquired over my career.” Two puffs of smoke escaped his nose, as his mind turned to thoughts of Ironhide. “So I need a teacher who can competently teach me those skills within a relatively short timeframe. Already my team is heading out on our next expedition and that... Infuriating bloated skink of a dragon will be there.” “I see. Do you imagine that you could complete such training before you will have to return?” Larc inquired.

The cleric paused. “No,” he admitted. “No, I do not. But I imagine I could get a comprehensive start and then... I'll have to take it from there.” “I see. Well, Mr. Leroung, your request is fully within our stipulations. I shall have the request sent and we'll find someone available for you before long,” Larc noted, as he turned towards his computer. “You'll be allowed seating in waiting room 43B until the message goes through. Go left out of the door, first corridor on the right, three floors down and then thirteenth door to the left.”

...

The inner waiting rooms, or at least the one Julius found himself directed to, was notably better furnished than the first one. A large table with carved chairs surrounding it, a massive bookshelf with reading on various subjects, a huge television screen with numerous entertainment devices hooked up to it, a big sofa with a marshmallow softness to it and several large plates and cups that would on command conjure whatever food and drinks one could desire.

The human couldn't help but feel slightly important at being allowed to wait in such a seemingly prestigious location, though he held no illusions that furnishing such a place would barely even qualify as an expenditure for the city given Hell's riches.

He passed the time with ease, digging into the numerous tomes, focusing on history and other such subjects. They were all pertaining to his home planet, which Julius suspected was intentional. Much of it was supremely detailed, with personal accounts from civilizations that had long faded into dust and ruin. Each book provided more true insight into the past than any one of his own expeditions. In truth, if Hell wanted they could probably supply a complete overview of the past, enough to render him out of work. But the infernal forces had no interest in coddling their servants and spoon-feeding them the truth, when instead people like Julius could prove themselves by digging it up. And he was also pretty sure that the collection was curated with this in mind. Still, he noted several things he'd keep in mind when examining certain structures in the future.

He was ripped out of a particular account of Azlanti naval technology when suddenly crimson flames engulfed one of the walls, as it yawned open to reveal another long passage.

He entered without hesitation and let himself be swallowed up by it, sliding through the inner workings of Hell to wherever he was now destined to end up.

Moments later, he was deposited in a grand room, almost temple like with massive obsidian pillars holding up the roof, open braziers filled with hellfire providing dim light and statues of fiendish warriors decorating niches in the walls.

In the middle of the room, currently lying while observing the newly arrived human on a pile of silken pillows, was a feline creature. It looked much like a sabre-toothed tiger, but its flesh was a transparent, glowing yellow mass, allowing its orange skeleton to be seen.

Julius paused only briefly to take in the sight before bowing.

“I am Vilmanath,” the hellcat informed him. “Your request for a teacher in the martial arts has been passed to me and it is therefore my duty to see that you are rewarded with the intense training that you desire. This is my monastery and as my pupil, you will refer to me as Master Vilmanath. Is that understood?” “Clearly, Master Vilmanath,” the cleric echoed, bowing again for emphasis.

“Good. I shall be instructing you in the arts of harnessing the powers of your body. As will my co-teacher.” Julius raised an eyebrow.

“It was believed that the breadth of education needed would require more than my expertise, so a second teacher were to be called up.” The hellcat idly scratched his chin with a sharp claw. “Though intriguingly, she decided to take the post before we could even think of assigning anyone else to it. You are fortunate, my student. Normally, to earn the right of her attention would take far greater service than what you have provided. But as she herself chose to take the job, well... I present to you your second teacher, Nashandra.”

Having waited for this moment, the teacher in question chose that exact moment to strut out from where she had been waiting and Julius immediately found himself thoroughly distracted by her.

For one thing, when he had heard the name and the importance she held, he had suspected her identity. Nashandra was hardly an uncommon name, even in Hell, but Julius was aware of one particular fiend by that name, even if her presence here would be mystifying to him to say the least. But seeing her confirmed that she was indeed the infamous granddaughter of his chosen deity. Black, leathery skin stretched over athletic muscles, a long tail swished behind her and large ears and a small nose gave her face bat-like characteristics. All these traits identified her as a nabasu. But where she stood apart were two curved horns, one of which was broken and her six wings. A pair of white feathery wings, a skeletal pair enveloped in flames and a pair of leathery, dragon-like ones. All marks of her exalted ancestry.

The second thing that threw Julius off was her skimpy dress. Not to say that the cleric wasn't used to seeing people in clothing so skimpy it almost seemed pointless. Certainly, there were always a fair share of men and women at official events looking to score themselves a benefactor and displaying themselves to aid their cause. And while that could be quite interesting, Julius had the composure and dignity not to be taken in by such base and cheap manipulations. Even showing up in a thin one-piece bikini was not too surprising, even from a royal fiend. No, what truly threw him off was that it seemed composed of metallic hooks, which he suspected were made of cold iron. And they were pointed inwards, digging into her skin and flesh, all the way from her neck to her genitals, the last part in particular made the cleric wince internally.

The trails of blood also made it quite obvious that this was no mere trick. Yet despite wearing such a ghastly piece of clothing, she moved as if it wasn't there at all.

“Hey, Julius,” she greeted him, holding out her hand, which the dumbfounded cleric limply took. “I'll be your teacher here. See if we can't get those new draconic instincts working.” “I... See,” he replied. “When do... We...” He paused, feeling an uncomfortable pain in his midsection. Looking down, he started realising that Nashandra had used her other hand to casually slip a ruby dagger between his ribs.

“We started five seconds ago,” she continued casually, withdrawing the weapon and letting the human crumble to the floor. “First thing's first, don't expect your enemies to ever give you a fair warning.” Julius gurgled in agony.

“Don't worry, this place is enchanted to fix you right up.” She paused, as the ambient magic healed him. “See. You'll be fine. In pain, but fine.”

“I.. See,” he noted shakily, getting back on his feet. He let his hand brush over the hole in his shirt, where the knife had slipped through.

“So, learnt something?” she inquired with a smile. “I think... So...” Julius looked down again. While replying, she had once more stabbed him.

“That would be a no then,” she remarked, as he collapsed again. “Second, don't expect timeouts just because things are hard.” She turned to Vilmanath. “Well, that should do for my first lesson. See you later.” And then she walked off.

The hellcat looked to the cleric, as he slowly forced himself back up. “Do not expect my teachings to be any gentler, my student,” he warned him. “So, are you sure this is the path you want to follow?” Julius took a deep breath, as he composed himself. “Yes, Master Vilmanath.”

“Then we shall start with a simple meditative exercise to make you more aware of your body. You can perform it in your assigned room. Follow me.”

...

When Julius had heard the words meditative exercise, he had imagined something akin to what he did as part of his clerical rituals, calmly focusing on a mental exercise meant to bring him in balance with the divine.

This was not what Vilmanath had meant.

Julius had been assigned a simple room, with a cot, a shelf and a desk. The hellcat had pointed to a stack of papers, briefly gone over a few notes and then left him to try them out in peace. So now the cleric was slowly crab walking from one end of the room to another, feeling the ache in his limbs from the unusual strain on them.

According to his new teacher, the point was to strain different parts of his body to force Julius to develop a constant awareness of his body's position, which would be necessary to further his development. The cleric trusted this to be true, even as he felt somewhat silly.

The door to his room popped open and Nashandra poked her head in. “Hey,” she said. “How's it going?” “Slowly. This is a... Inefficient method of moving,” he grunted.

“Trust me, give this enough time and you'll be able to move in any position,” she noted with a grin. “If you think you can stick with us for that long.” “I will. I intend to finish my training no matter what,” he responded in a strained voice. He paused, before slowly getting up with support from his bed. “May I ask a question?” “Of course you can ask a question,” she replied, rolling her eyes as she leaned against the door frame. “Listen, Julius, I like keeping things casual. You don't need to be such a stick in the mud around me.” He paused. “I... Well, okay, I'll try,” he noted. “So, my question is, why are you here?” “I'm here to train you.” “Well, yes, I know that. What I meant was, why would you personally decide to train me?” He scratched the back of his head. “As Master Vilmanath said, getting the aid of someone like you is... Beyond anything I've earned.” “Well, yeah. But I personally asked to be allowed to step in once I noticed your request coming through the system.” She smiled. “And very few people can say no to me.”

“Yes, but why?” “Well, as you know, we here in Hell have a vested interest in your country, as a legitimized political representative of infernal influence if you want some technical terms thrown in,” she explained. “But let's be honest for one second here, many of your fellow nobles think you lot pulled a fast one on us and came out of this as the big gold medal winners, complete with a fucking trophy and everything. Often acting as if Hell serves you. It's gonna bite you all in the ass one day soon. Real hard.” “That is true, I'm sorry to say,” Julius admitted. “Far too many thinks that the terms of the contract renders us immune.” She folded her arms. “But you know the truth, don't you? If anyone can find a way around a contract to hit where it hurts, it's Hell. And boy, your country. You've done some stupid shit. Especially after that little stunt with the pit fiend blew open last year.” “Yes. Technically legal, of course, but in poor taste,” the cleric noted.

“And I was there, personally aiding in his breakout. He was not happy, no siree,” she noted. “And he has petitioned our highest courts for actions to be taken against you lot.” She looked to the ceiling, briefly lost to imagination .”Boy, will there ever be some fireworks when that finally happens.” “And I presume that even if I asked, you wouldn't tell me anything about what's happening,” he remarked.

“Of course not. Where would the fun be in that?” “Figures. But that doesn't explain why you'd teach me.”

“Because you're smarter than most of them. At least, smart enough to know your place. No illusions there, just loyal servitude.” She stepped forward to put a hand on his shoulder. “I think your country would benefit from more people like you. But that requires you to stay alive, so if I can help with that, I will.” “Oh. Thanks. That's really... Nice... Of...” Julius slowly paused and looked down. He had been stabbed by her again.

“By the way, if you keep falling for this, you won't survive for long,” she noted, letting him fall to the floor. “Just saying. Anyway, I'll see you later.” Julius gurgled a pained farewell as she left him to recover.

...

Training with Vilmanath consisted, broadly speaking, of two things. One was the slow and deliberate training of specific moves and manoeuvrers, designed to teach Julius the most effective ways his body could be used as a weapon.

The other was applying those moves. In an actual battle. Against Vilmanath himself.

It was for this reason that Julius now found himself lying on his stomach, watching through pained tears how the healing magic of the place kindly dragged his jaw back towards him so it could be reattached. He felt a soft click as the bones re-socketed and the surrounding tissue knitted itself together.

“Get back up. We're not done,” came Vilmanath's voice from nearby.

With a grunt of exertion, Julius got back into position. The braziers blazed brightly, illuminating the pillared room fully. Unfortunately, this was no advantage, as the bright light rendered the hellcat invisible. This was all part of an exercise to attune his senses and his movements, allowing him to react to attacks he could not see.

Which at the moment translated to him standing around nervously, only to be gruesomely battered about by a giant devil cat that he couldn't see, usually earning what would be a fatal wound if the healing wasn't so effective.

He took a deep breath and concentrated, trying to hear or smell the presence of his teacher. But the hellcat's padded feet made him very quiet and everything in the room smelled like brimstone thanks to the braziers. So very little besides being gutted would reveal Vilmanath's position. And Julius didn't need instructions to figure out that any manoeuvrer that relied on one getting skewered by the enemy only worked if you could recover from that.

He closed his eyes, trying to detect something, anything.

For a moment, he thought he had something. Then he definitely felt something, that something being the pain of having his stomach cut open by sharp claws, as Vilmanath slashed him again. The cleric stumbled back, trying to keep his insides inside, before his stomach healed up again.

“Concentrate,” the fiend informed him, before falling quiet.

The human took a deep breath and tried to focus. He had asked for intense training and neither of his teachers were pulling any punches. He was truly in the deep end. But there had been something. Just before the pain. He concentrated, focusing not on his sight, hearing or smell. But on the feelings of his body.

Of the displaced air washing over his skin.

He made a quick motion, trying to block an incoming swipe with his arm.

And stumbled back with the now wounded appendage, four deep gouges carved into it, the scratched bone of his arm briefly showing before the injury began healing.

“Better. You reacted,” his teacher noted. “Your entire body is a sensory organ and you must learn to listen to it. If you can master this, you can learn not only to sense incoming attacks, but also know whether that is an attack to block or dodge.” He paused. “In this case, blocking was the wrong option.” “So I noticed,” the cleric hissed, rubbing his newly healed arm.

“Now, again.” The human was unsure how long he spent in that chamber. Even when he tried to dodge, he'd often end up with a new series of slashes across his skin and his blocks often ended with lost limbs having to come rolling back to him like a dog returning with a stick.

But slowly, Julius began to be able to just feel the incoming attack, even if his ability to deal with them was far from efficient.

...

There was a meaty thwack as Julius collided with another pillar and proceeded to plummet three meters in order greet the stone floor face first. He lay briefly in a crumbled heap of broken bones, until the healing magic realigned his everything.

“Blasted things,” he hoarsely cursed, as he got back up. “How do dragons make it look so easy?” “Because they're born with wings,” Nashandra remarked, swooping past him. “Written into their brains and souls how it works. If you ever had anything like that, well, probably atrophied in your youth, what with you not having wings back then. If you're lucky, you'll awaken your instincts and it will just click.” “And if I'm unlucky?” “Then you'll get really familiar with the feeling of breaking your neck.” “Figures.” The cleric looked up at the rings the nabasu had arranged for him to fly through. Although even he had to admit that currently, flight was too charitable a term. Flailing through the air swinging his limbs like he had ants crawling up his back would probably more accurately summarize what he was currently capable of.

“Maybe we should take a break from that,” Nashandra suggested.

“I thought there weren't breaks here.” “There aren't. But you're getting frustrated and that's not going to do your flying any good.” She gestured to a nearby set of target dummies. “Let's practice fire breathing. Frustration will help you there.” Julius eyed them. “How so?”

“Dragons are emotional creatures and their emotions are often linked to their powers. Surely you have noticed by now. Whenever your temper starts to boil, you get all fired up. Literally.” She landed next to him. “What you need to do is focus that energy inside you, breathe in and then exhale it.”

“Sounds simple,” Julius remarked. “I assume it isn't.” “Well, depends on what you mean. But for now, let's see you do it.” She leaned against one of the nearby braziers, letting its red hot decorations dig into her back. “Go on.”

Julius returned his attention to the targets. He tried to focus on the frustration his lack of success with flying had awoken in him. Then he inhaled and exhaled. And then he began coughing, a few puffs of black smoke exiting from his mouth.

“Well... It was something,” the nabasu remarked.

The half-dragon tried a few more times, with similar results.

“Hmm, let's try this from another angle,” she suggested to a wheezing Julius. “What are you focusing on?” “My frustration,” he hoarsely replied.

“I don't think that's gonna cut it,” she noted. “No. Not at all. See, your problem is you're way too damn compliant. We tell you this will be hard and you just roll over and accept it. Expect it, even. So you can only get so frustrated because failure is exactly what you'd expect to happen when you throw a clergyman with noodle arms into a battle arena and expect him to do backflips.” She paused. “See, I'm insulting you and you're not even getting that mad because it is actually true. What kind of dragon would act like that?” “I mean... I would maybe not exactly describe myself as weak,” he remarked, rubbing his arms with a hint of wounded pride. “But compared to what I am aiming for, yes, I am somewhat underdeveloped.” “You know who has a well-developed body though? Ironhide,” Nashandra informed him.

Julius stiffened notably. “I... Don't see why he needs to be brought into this.” “Well, you two keep running into each other,” she noted. “And you keep failing to defeat him. So, you know, comparisons are natural.” The cleric's hands clenched. “I am trying to fix that,” he tersely noted, his draconic eyes glowing like embers.

“You know, maybe you should just go home and send him here instead. I'm sure he'd do really well.” “I WILL NOT BE REPLACED BY THAT BELLOWING RED CLUMP!” Julius yelled, his skin turning a shade to match his scales. “NOT NOW! NOT EVER!” “Awesome. Breathe fire. Now,” Nashandra instructed.

Julius paused for a second before quickly turning to the dummy, inhaling and exhaling as instructed.

And then he was knocked on his back as the pressure of the spray of flames overwhelmed him, the stream of fire shooting into the air as the elemental breath died down.

“See, that's the part that makes it complicated,” Nashandra informed the gasping Julius. “Four legs really help stabilizing.” “I... See,” he croaked.

...

Julius felt sweat rain from his forehead in big drops, as he kept attacking the training dummy in front of him, constantly switching which limb to strike with.

“You must kick harder, my student,” Vilmanath informed him, his softly glowing body visible in the dimmer light. “A dainty attack like that is only giving your enemy a break and an opening. You need to be relentless with your strikes.”

Julius kept pummelling his artificial opponent, trying to absorb and apply the instructions. He had lost all sense of time, his life now divided between training sessions and the breaks he were afforded both to rest and attend his mortal needs. He could no longer honestly say how long he had been there, his inner clock completely set out by the alien nature of Hell, the isolation and loose schedule his teachers operated by. The fact that there were all alone in the temple, which seemingly had no exits at all, only served to enhance the feeling of isolation.

There was nothing but the three of them and the temple. It allowed for a form of focus the half-dragon had never experienced before, an almost feverish one where the entire rest of the world had faded into nothing but mist. The only thing preventing him from suspecting that years were quietly rolling by were that he would need to return to the expedition at some point before that much time could pass.

“Hey, Julius,” Nashandra called, as she entered the room. “You team will be setting up base camp soon, so we're sending you back home to join up with them.” “Oh?” he responded, as he ceased attacking the dummy. “I see.” He paused. “When shall I return?” “Whenever you feel your duties on the Material Plane have been settled,” Vilmanath informed him, getting up and stretching his back, finishing his sentence with a toothy yawn. “Then you may call upon us again and you shall return here until your duties draw you back to the Material Plane. Or that your training is completed.” He sounded almost bemused as he added: “Which will not be anytime soon. Nevertheless, you have made much progress already. I look forward to hearing how you find your skills to work in life.” “And hey, if things go really wrong, you'll just move into Hell permanently,” Nashandra noted.

“Yes. I'm aware that this is my soul's destination,” he remarked. “But still, I have duties in life I need to attend to. I thank you for your time, Master Vilmanath, and you too, Nashandra.” “You're welcome,” the nabasu noted, padding him on the back.

Reflexively, Julius grabbed her wrist, barely keeping the knife from fully sinking into his body.

“And you're getting faster. Only halfway in this time,” she noted, retracting the weapon to let the pained human heal. “Anyway, a hellgate will take you back.”

As she said that, there was a flash of flames, as a yawning maw opened up in one of the walls.

Julius bowed to the two and headed inside, vanishing from sight as the hellgate closed.

The two fiends watched where the half-dragon had been.

“He's not ready,” Nashandra noted. “Not by a long shot.”

“Of course not,” Vilmanath noted, lying back down. “And he knows it. But it will be valuable experience none the less.” He eyed her. “So, what are your plans for him?”

“Well... He'll be a useful piece later on. We intend to teach Cheliax a lesson they won't soon forget,” Nashandra remarked. “But we don't want things to completely collapse so, you know, people like him will be valuable.”

“And you think he'll be strong enough when the time comes?” “Dunno. That's up to him. But if he needs help, well...” She grinned viciously. “We'll be ready to help him.”

[queen-scribbles]

Crap, I think I screwed up getting Arue early yet again. :|

I UNLOCKED AZATA. It's the ONE (1) chaotic thing Ret's done specifically bc I want Arue early. >.>

Do you have to look at the altar before picking up the sextant and harp? Wiki page says the area doesn't unlock until you defeat the nabasu dude, so it can't be I did it too late. Unless the wiki's wrong.

[shaddy24]

Camazotz

Pathfinder 2e

Camazotz (Lord of Bats and Fire) 

Camazotz was once a simple nabasu demon with great ambition and drive. Among the many nabasu born, he fought his way to greater power, fulfilled his hunger, ascended to become a vrolikai, and then grew even more powerful. He became a nascent demon lord focused over bats and vampires, becoming more and more bat-like as he went, but it wasn’t until he managed to steal the fire aspect of another nascent demon lord that he managed to break through the threshold and become a true demon lord. He solidified his place in the Abyss in one fell swoop, claiming a section of it as his lair and quickly began spreading his following deeper into the material plane among primarily derro and goblins.

Once only found in darkness, his newfound connection with fire and light has bolstered his confidence, and he is becoming more confident in daylight; a confidence that is also spreading to his cults as he recruits more beings comfortable in the day.

Areas of Concern bats, blood drinking, fire Edicts feed on blood and aid creatures that do so, spread fire, proclaim your victories Anathema refuse your ambition, Divine Attribute Constitution or Wisdom

Devotee Benefits  Cleric Spells 1st: breathe fire, 4th: vapor form, 5th: moon frenzy Divine Font harm  Divine Skill Intimidation Domains ambition, darkness, destruction, fire, Favored Weapon dagger

Created even before his rise to true demon lord, skin bats are one of Camazotz's favorite creations. The flayed skin of a victim sacrificed in his name, fed into a vat of flesh, and granted horrible unlife, these creatures fly in great flocks in Camazotz's Abyssal realm, and he teaches their creation to his followers. They feed on the skin of other beings to replace the constantly rotting components of their own body, peeling it off in horrible strips and fusing it to themselves. They typically have an 8 foot wingspan, despite the relatively small size of their body, and over time its coloration shifts based on the color of the skin it feeds on.

Skin Bat Creature 0 Rare, Small, Mindless, Undead Perception +7; darkvision Skills Acrobatics +5, Stealth +5 Str +1, Dex +3, Con +0, Int -4, Wis +1, Cha -2 AC 15; Fort +4, Ref +7, Will +5 HP 15 (negative healing); Immunities death effects, disease, mental, paralyzed, poison, unconscious Speed 10 feet, fly 40 feet Melee fangs +7 (finesse), Damage 1d4+1 plus attach and critical paralysis Attach [1 action] When a skin bat hits a target larger than itself, it attempts to attach it to that creature. It makes an Acrobatics check against the target's Reflex DC. This attempt neither applies nor counts towards the skin bat's multiple attack penalty. This is similar to grabbing the creature, but the skin bat moves with that creature rather than holding it in place. The skin bat is flat-footed while attached. If the skin bat is killed or pushed away while attached to a creature it has peeled skin from, that creature takes 1d4 persistent bleed damage. Escaping the attach or removing the skin bat in other ways doesn’t cause bleed damage. Critical Paralysis (incapacitation) On a critical hit with fangs, the target must attempt a DC 12 Fortitude saving throw. Critical Success The target is temporarily immune to Critical Paralysis for 1 hour. Success The target is unaffected. Failure The target is slowed 1 for 1d4 rounds. Critical Failure The target is paralyzed for 1d4 rounds. Peel Skin [1 action] (healing); Requirements The skin bat is attached to a creature. Effect The skin bat peels the skin from a creature it's attached to and incorporates it into its own body. This deals 1d4 damage and the skin bat regains Hit Points equal to the damage dealt. If it's at full health, it instead gains temporary Hit Points equal to that amount. A creature that has its skin peeled in this way is sickened and drained 1 until it receives healing (of any kind or amount).

13th Age

Camazotz is a newly minted ruler of a Hellhole, having usurped control from his weakening and decrepit predecessor. Formerly a very powerful bat demon, he inherited fire from the balor Hugotha when he devoured the balor's flesh and now wields it with a fascination that borders on reverence. The Hellhole, formerly decaying and falling in on itself now resurges with vitality and power, hordes of bat demons pouring forth in an unending tide to drown out the lax defenders who'd grown used to Hugotha's laziness. Perhaps this was the wish of the Diabolist, to replace a failing minion, or perhaps Camazotz has overturned her carefully laid out plan to limit the impact of any one particular Hellhole to ensure that her power isn't destroyed with all reality, but either way Camazotz prepares for a far greater invasion of the world.

Camazotz Large 14th level troop [demon] Initiative: +19 Vulnerability: Cold Claws and Bites +19 vs. AC (3 attacks) - 70 damage plus 20 fire damage. Natural 16+: The target also takes a cumulative -1 penalty to melee attack rolls (maximum -4, hard save removes the penalty entirely). C: Life-Eating Fire +19 vs. PD (1d3+2 nearby enemies in a group) - 90 fire damage and the target only gains half the hit points from spending a recovery to heal (save ends). Natural Even Hit: The target loses one recovery. If it has no recoveries, it takes the usual penalty for using a recovery. Camazotz gains the use of the escalation die for 1 turn per recovery he eats this way. Limited Use: 1/battle, recharges whenever Camazotz reduces an enemy to 0 hit points. C: Wing Attack +19 vs. PD (1d2 nearby enemies) - The target pops free from Camazotz, takes 2d8 fire damage, and is hampered until the end of Camazotz’s next turn. Hit or Miss: Camazotz can move as a quick action. Quick Use: 1/round, as a quick action, when the escalation die is even. Bat Ears: Increase the DC to hide from or sneak past Camazotz silently by +5. Flight. Heat Mantle: At the start of each of Camazotz’s turns, each enemy engaged with him takes 3d6 fire damage. Summon Bats: As a quick action, Camazotz can summon 1d4 giant bat swarm mooks. They appear in the battle as a new mob, acting after the next 1d3+2 creatures have taken their turns. This ability recharges when the escalation die reaches 6 for the first time. He summons 2 additional mooks when the escalation die is 6, and the entire mob roll a d6 on the demonic ability table. Resist Fire and Lightning 18+. AC 30 PD 27 MD 26 HP 980

Giant Bat Swarm  12th level mook [beast]  Initiative: +14 Vulnerability: Thunder Swarming Bites +18 vs. PD (1d3 nearby enemies) - 30 damage, and after the attack the giant bat swarm engages one of the targets. Natural Even Hit: The target is hampered until the end of its next turn. It can end this effect by attacking the swarm, or if the swarm drops to 0 hit points. No Opportunities: The giant bat swarm can’t make opportunity attacks, and enemies can’t make opportunity attacks against it. Swarming Resistance 18+: The giant bat swarm gains damage resistance against all damage from enemies the swarm didn’t attack during its last turn. AC 27 PD 27 MD 22 HP 100 (mook) Mook: Kill one giant bat swarm mook for every 100 damage you deal to the mob.

[silversiren1101]

Hi Mino! Some questions for you!

Would you ever consider starting a family? How do you feel about getting married, having kids, and potentially settling down?

How do you feel about makeup? Are you any good at putting it on? Do you wear it often?

What's usually on your shopping list?

Hello! Thanks for the ask :3

[Ask from this game: Muse Questions] We'll say she's currently Knight Commander for these rather than her post-canon!

Would you ever consider starting a family? How do you feel about getting married, having kids, and potentially settling down?

Minovae's eyes widen before she chuckles. A hint of sadness laces the sound.

"It's not impossible for a Hellknight to start a family, even as much as it's not... actively encouraged. I mean, the Lictor of the Nail has three daughters who are all Hellknights themselves. There's entire lineages across the Orders, even. But as for me starting a family? That would imply, well, a spouse... or someone that'd be interested in doing such a thing with me at all", she sighs in the delivery of the latter part of the statement. "I'm not sure such a person exists. At least, one I'd want to be with myself."

She seems to have a particular person in her mind, but says nothing further on them.

"I love kids. Always have. I used to..." There's a sadness in her eyes as she remembers a distant past. Her nostrils flare for a moment as she takes a deep, sharp breath before relaxing again. "I had Foundlings. Once. It was... Among the happiest times of my life." She smiles. A slight quivering takes to her lip. "That was a long time ago. My greatest joy. My... greatest failure..."

She sighs. Weary. Hurting.

"I know better than to try again, or want for something not meant for me in this life I've chosen. There is no 'settling down' for me. No wedding dresses. No cradles or bassinets. I'm okay with that. My path is ensuring that choice exists for others, keeping the roaring demons and chaos back from a quiet, safe, and civil life for everyone else out there. I became a Hellknight because I had nothing: nothing to cherish and nothing to lose and nothing to gain either. I have never once expected that to change."

[Words spoken by a woman who has zero idea she does in fact get married and have a child in the future (still no settling down though she's still an active career woman!)]

How do you feel about makeup? Are you any good at putting it on? Do you wear it often?

"What do It think of it? I think of it the same as armor polish or paint: a tool to make something look nice."

She shrugs.

"I don't get much use out of it; kind of hard to with the scales. Getting powder or cream caked up between them is just a recipe for a breakout or some type of infection, and they do a good enough job serving the purpose of makeup anyway", she smirks.

"The only type of makeup I've ever had much luck with is around the eyes: liner, shadow, you know. I don't get much opportunity for it. Contrary to what one Camellia Germ might say, you do not need to put on your sharpest eyeliner before fighting demons every morning. How she hasn't gotten a flake in her eye in the middle of combat..."

"Whatever, that's off topic. What I'm trying to say is that I don't dislike it. Working cases at noble galas and parties after the civil war, I loved getting all dressed and dolled up. I just... haven't had an opportunity or reason to since."

What's usually on your shopping list?

She blinks, violet eyes curious and wide.

"What a strange question. Do you mean in the sense of keeping a house? Because I've never done that, really."

Her tail flicks the air.

"I'm going to assume it's more about stocking up the party before setting out into the Worldwound. In that case--"she extends a hand and begins counting fingers, speaking.

"Healing potions and scrolls, scrolls of Death Ward for shadows and nabasus and bodaks, scrolls of Freedom of Movements also for nabasus--" she mutters under her breath, "hate those fucking things."

"Uh, what else. Scrolls of communal protection from and resist of every elemental damage type, because you never know. Scrolls of Restoration. Scrolls of Heal. Wow- we really do go through a lot of scrolls. Hrm."

She pauses, thinking. "I should talk with the Logistics Council on this... there has to be a cheaper way of keeping us outfitted. Allies we can call on to source us..."

[dreadfutures]

Favored of Pharasma

A little fic of the culmination at the Lost Chapel, which was especially meaningful to my Pharasmin oracle/undead bloodline sorcerer, Halide.

--

The barometer has been ticking ever closer to her limit as bodies burned in the very tents they slept in, as some of her friends in the ranks of the captains were dropped, screaming and flailing, from the sky right in front of her--but Halide has warded herself: she has seen worse.

Until this moment, she has consoled herself that she has seen worse on the fields of Absalom in the wake of the Whispering Tyrant's siege. She has consoled herself that she has seent terrible remnants of Xin in Varisia, that she has seen untold horrors of fey capriciousness in the River Kingdoms as she helped her friend become a king in his own right.

But now faced with Irabeth hooked through the chest like a slaughtered cow, whispering of despair through bloodied lips, Halide feels the last of her fortitude leaving her.

They are surrounded by undeath brought into the world with a cruelty that Tar Baphon himself had never stopped to. All around them, ghouls and wights "birth" new ghouls, fawning over them like perverse midwives. Every time Halide thinks she has rescued a crusader or a knight, she is horrified to find they have been bitten--ghoul fever progressed so far already that they, too, are felled by the Paladin's righteous channel of positive energy.

Worst of all, Halide knows there is very little she could have done to avoid this moment.

From the very first, she has suspected a traitor in her ranks. After Leper's Smile she had her suspicions who might be brazen enough to paint such targets on her back, but now she is almost certain. Certain that it is not Woljif, though anger fills her that he had not come to trust her enough to stay and let her defend him from these false accusations. She would have--

The anger, the demonic anger that feels so sweet and freeing, rises in her breast before she has even realized what is coming.

Then Nulkineth stands before her, perverted halo irradiating the blood-stained snow with sickly light. Her rage nearly swallows her, and Minagho's cloying screeches push her almost to the edge.

Halide feels Sosiel at her side and senses the same anger in him. Where she sees the perversion of her goddess' gift of life, he sees the perversion of his goddess' natural beauty. Despair is an ugly infection and there is almost nothing left here to salvage.

Grief cools her anger--and keeps cooling, until the chill of the grave descends upon her.

She knows what to do.

Halide has never wished to be a cleric, bound to the tenets of a religion as stipulation for continued use of power. And now, as she steps up to the nabasu and looks right through him at the tangle of rotten souls behind him, she understands she never needed to take a cleric's vow at all. She never needed a prophecy to come into legendary power. Pharasma had not brought Halide here to enact her will, had not twisted the path of fate and destiny and time and space to make it so.

Pharasma severed those threads long ago. She ended the bonds of destiny with another god's death, and yet, and yet, Halide's life still brought her to this moment--poised to act as if she were, in fact, one of the goddess' chosen.

Halide's voice does not echo or boom as she utters her prayer, and yet every word hits the dead like a crashing wave. They writhe in agony but their voices are silenced, and even Nulkineth is struck dumb in the wake of the prayer, shocked at the glimpse of the River that has welled up inside Halide.

She does not feel the undeath that touches her own body ease, but she knows now that it never will. The undeath in her bloodline is what makes her so perfectly suited for this work, poised on the bank between Life and Death for all her days--ready to push or pull as needed, a guide for the neverending current.

In this moment, it is time to push.

The undead fall all around her like cut marionettes, but even the sound of their corpses hitting the snow is strangely silenced.

Halide lets out a breath she has not known she has been holding, and yet the world itself still holds its breath--waiting for something.

All heads turn when a bird trills, the quavering voice singing three notes in quick succession. When was the last time a bird had sung out from the Worldwound? When had the last bird fled the corpse of Sarkoris? It has been a long time since Halide has heard this song, and it feels like the greeting of a long lost friend.

The whippoorwill's song is Pharasma's lullaby, joining Halide in putting the undead to their final rest.

[lizzorasaurus]

this is gospel

[quenthel]

that one fight where you have to save the hellknight’s ass in wrath is so evil there are a million waves of them and all the archers and ppl armed with swords are dealing literally no dmg to them bc they are rocks. they rush your archers down in seconds. Esp hard if you forgor to take any wizards or offensive spellcasters with you and have just Daeran and Sosiel aoe heal everyone trough the fight. My one magic user kept missing her spells. Regill got reduced to 0 within 2 rounds. Seelah died and I had to cheat myself a resurrection scroll. literally evil evil fight!!

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Xoveron, Demon Lord of Gargoyles

CR 27

Chaotic Evil Huge Outsider

Adventure Path: Wrath of the Righteous: The Worldwound Incursion, pg. 84-85

Originally a fairly obscure Demon Lord, the death of Aroden and the resulting Age of Lost Omens has seen a surge of humanoid faithful swarming into the Lord of Ruins. Madmen, bandits, destructive villains, and gluttons alike now pay tribute to Xoveron, the abundance of sacrifices and new worship drawing his full attention to Golarion, and for the first time since his birth he’s beginning to make long-term plans. Already having an impressive collection of destroyed cities plucked from all over creation, Xoveron seeks to expand his empire of ruination until it encompasses the entirety of Golarion... even if it means working with Deskari, Baphomet, and--most dangerously--Nocticula to do it. But if he betrays them first, it’ll totally work out, right...?

Due to having a vested interest in destroying the world, he is wisely kept at arms length by all the Demon Lords who wish to conquer it. So far at arms length, in fact, that references to him are completely omitted from the video game translation of the Wrath of the Righteous AP, something I personally find offensive but can understand given how many other Demon Lords of varying levels of obscurity are mentioned by name... But perhaps the biggest kick in the nads is that his role as commander of the gargoyles that frequently run raids and the slavering Nabasu demons are instead attributed to Kabriri. On the other hand, though, Kabriri doesn’t have a statblock and Xoveron does, so who’s the real winner?

Xoveron is one of the more direct Demon Lords we’ve seen, fittingly enough for what is essentially a god of destruction and reckless gluttony. He performs well in the game of rocket tag that high-level Pathfinder becomes, often initiating battles with either his Shockwave or Roar, both of which can spell death for a party the moment initiative is rolled. The former is simple: if the Horned Prince begins a charge in the air and ends it on the ground, he creates a thundering pressure that can potentially knock everything within 30ft of him prone unless a DC 40 Reflex save is made. The latter has some complexity to it, but it makes for a hell of an alpha strike: Once per hour, Xoveron can belt out a devastatingly loud roar that damages all creatures and unattended objects within 60ft of him for 30d10 Sonic damage. All creatures within range can make yet another DC 40 Reflex save to avoid being blown apart and take only half damage, but anyone who fails the save is also stunned for 1d6 rounds!

Off to a good start! And those are just his openers!

You’d expect Xoveron, Lord of Ruins, to have a lot of wide-reaching abilities that cause extreme collateral devastation, and you’d be right! He has both Earthquake and Reverse Gravity available to him 3/day, both of which he cannot be inconvenienced by thanks to his massive size and ability to fly. Everyone else? Well, you all can fly, right? Everyone by this level has SOME ability to fly, right? One that he can’t with his at-will Greater Dispel Magic, hopefully!

While not entirely immune to mind-affecting effects as most endboss monsters are, Xoveron does remain impervious to charm and compulsion effects, as well as death effects, energy drain, Acid and Electricity damage, and--obviously--petrification. The last of those is something he loves handing out, as one may expect; he not only has Quickened Flesh to Stone available to him 3/day, but a sting from his whipping tail (which also deals 1d8+17 damage) transfers a poison that quickly begins to calcify the victims’ tissues. It requires a DC 40 Fortitude save to avoid the poison, and failing it means the victim will have to successfully save three consecutive times to avoid it. If you’re unable to do so, you take 1d6 Dex drain each round for 6 rounds, and falling to 0 Dex petrifies you.

Being petrified around Xoveron is even more dangerous than normal, because not only is it death for the enstoned character, but it’s death for everyone else, too. A strike from any of Xoveron’s nine natural weapons can Shatter Petrification, instantly killing the victim unless they succeed a DC 43 Fortitude save after every blow and scattering razor-sharp rock fragments 10ft in every direction. The Demon Lord himself is unharmed by any of these explosions, but everyone else takes 10d6 slashing damage from the shrapnel. Notably, this effect does not seem to trigger if he destroys the target through damage, accidentally or on purpose, only if they fail the save! So try and get petrified at low health, for the benefit of the party!

Yes, the fact that he has FtS as a Quickened spell means he can just petrify someone and then take a Full-Attack, potentially instantly killing them without any possible response from the rest of the party. Even if they somehow resist make the Fort save against all nine of his attacks in a row, their stoned form is likely gone anyway. The damage on each of his attacks is relatively low, but there’s a lot of them, and all of them critically strike on a 19 or 20 (with Bleeding Critical for extra damage); his four claws deal 1d8+17 damage, four bites dealing 2d6+17 each (and Rending for 2d8+25 if two of them manage to hit the same target in one round), and his aforementioned sting for 1d8+17. The low individual damage does come with the unfortunate downside that if you manage to kite away from the hulking Demon Lord and stay out of his reach (15ft space + 15ft reach is considerable, though), or even just stagger him, his damage flatlines pretty harshly.

But don’t worry too much for him! Because Paizo thought of that! They gave him an even better, built-in version of Greater Vital Strike called Devastating Blow. As a standard action, Xoveron can swing all four of his claws down on a single target at once, and if the attack hits it deals 8d8+68 damage! Any unlucky sucker smashed by this damage has to make a DC 43 Fortitude save or be both knocked prone AND staggered for 1d4 rounds... and he can chain these together as many times as he wants, as Devastating Blow has no cooldown and can be used any round he has his standard action available. DB also has an additional bit of non-combat potential, as it ignores hardness when used, letting Xoveron rip through more or less any barrier that’s not outright invincible. 

While Xoveron may seem like a pure brute plagued by impatience, there’s a strange, bestial cunning within him that may come to take the other Demon Lords he’s allied with by surprise. While he is, statistically, the least Intelligent of all Demon Lords (at 24; still superhuman), he has something none of the others have: the ability to Feed on information. Any other lord can coerce bits and pieces of knowledge from a victim, or utilize Dominate to make them spill their guts, but all Xoveron needs is a full-round action and access to the victim’s corpse. This gruesome, messy feast invigorates the Lord of Ruin’s body and mind, restoring him with a Heal spell and affecting him with Haste... but more importantly, he fully assimilates every memory and ounce of knowledge the victim once had in their mind. It doesn’t matter who or what they once were, this ability has no per-day or alignment restriction, nor does it grant any opportunity to keep a secret from him. It is unambiguous: if he eats your corpse, he knows everything you once did.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, death by death as his scavengers pluck choice corpses and survivors from the devastation left behind by other Demon Lords, Xoveron’s knowledge grows. Every time he devours a fallen rival, he learns. Every time a spy is found in his midst and is stomped to paste, he pieces together better ways to overcome the plans and plots of both enemy and ally. 

Maybe one day, after feasting upon the corpses of other Demon Lords, he’ll figure out a way to join Lamashtu in divinity.

You can read more about him here.

[thesolemnhour]

For Agira! Face, formal, and change please!

Bestie, do not worry it's no big deal!

face: Describe your OC's face. What's their smile like? Are their orbs cerulean? What would someone notice first when looking at them?

At the start of the game, I would describe Agria’s face as being just a little too perfect to be memorable. It’s a little like outsider influence airbrushed out all of the little blemishes that would have made her look unique. The end result is pretty, no doubt, but it leaves her a little indistinct and heavily baby-faced. In the middle of act 1, she gets a decisive whack across the face by a nabasu, which leaves her with a wide scar from the bridge of her nose out toward her right ear. She is praying to Desna every night that it will make her older. Aside from the obviously ember-kin features (i.e orange eyes, faintly glowing red hair), her smile is probably her most prominent feature. Agria smiles often and with her entire face: eyes, cheeks and teeth. The closest example I can think of is a little bit like Keira Knightley, very broad and toothy:

formal: What's your OC's formal look? Do they like dressing up? Do they have different looks for different occasions?

Agria looooves dressing up; it’s a very fun opportunity for her. Growing up in court, she’s used to looking the part, but Mendevian fashion probably throws her for a loop for a minute. If she needed to fit in with the nobility, she would consult with someone like Daeran who is more familiar with the custom, and she would hate very single second of having to admit that he knew more about something than she did. Agria’s favorite feature of hers is her red hair, and she favors cool colors (blues, greens, and purples) that make her hair pop. Given her way, she would absolutely have an outfit for every occasion. I think she would love something like Alicent’s green dress:

change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

Ohhhh, yes, she certainly has. After she trades Brevic court life for the country side, her wardrobe changes drastically. The dresses get less elaborate, and they have to last much longer. In my interpretation of the Sarkorians in Brevoy, I like to imagine that they dress in something like the vyshyvankas of Ukraine where they have this beautiful, elaborate embroidery that has a significance based on the pattern and color. In sordid scenes, it’s remarked a couple of times that Agria is terrible (by her own standards) at needlework. This isn’t just to have an opportunity for Agria to be self-deprecating—the embroidery is a big part of their culture, and she had absolutely no idea how to do it. Even children like Gwyn are miles better than Agria is when she first shows up on Clan Widowknife’s doorstep. Her eventually learning how to do it is a huge symbol of her getting comfortable with the Sarkorians and getting in touch with her culture. She also gets probably the worst bangs and bob haircut combination known to man, as is tradition for people in crisis. It does make her feel a little better about her life, though.

[sheppi-isometrics]

Nabasu Token on Patreon

[lunarowena]

And spill the Scarlet Rain

For @badthingshappenbingo​

Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous, Blood from the Mouth

Content warnings: blood, harm to children

Also on AO3

-

Long, piercing shrieks filled the air.

As Knight Commander of the Fifth Crusade against the Worldwound, Lorraine Summerglen had, by this point, plenty of experience fighting demons and their cultists. She just usually preferred when it was her seeking them out, rather than being ambushed in the middle of the night.

Sleepily pushing her auburn hair out of her eyes, in the light shed by her angelic halo Lorraine could see the dark outlines of spindly figures descending upon the camp. Seelah rolled out of her bedroll in a chain shirt, grasping onto her sword from where she kept it by her side. Woljif cast a light spell on Seelah as he fumbled for his daggers and the camp came into view.

Babau demons and, if Lorraine’s eyes weren’t playing tricks on her in the dark—curse standard halfling vision—cultist archers in the shadows. And now they were perfectly illuminated sitting ducks.

A babau tripped over Daeran as he still only sat up, blinking, from his bedroll. Lorraine rushed over, dodging its longspear, and met it with a roundhouse kick to the face. Woljif appeared behind it, knifing it in the back. It twitched as it fell to the ground. Daeran scrambled up now away from the dead body, demonic blood flecked on his golden face.

“Behind you, Chief.” Woljif barely got out the warning before another spear grazed Lorraine’s side. She spun around to deliver a blow to the demon’s knee, sending it to the ground. Woljif closed the distance and stuck a dagger into its neck.

Across the camp, Seelah was fending off three babau at once, arrows from the concealed archers plinking off her shield. Behind her, Lann gazed into the darkness with concentration, firing steady shots at the cultists. Lorraine knocked an arrow out of the air as it flew toward her own face. Ember, where was Ember?

“I don’t want to hurt you!” the young girl cried out and an arc of fire bounced between the babaus fighting Seelah, incinerating them.

Seelah leaned back from the flame, eyebrows raised. “Remind me to never be around when you actually want to hurt someone, Ember.”

“I never want to hurt people,” the elven girl protested.

Lorraine glanced over at Daeran, who was still sitting on the ground. “Are you planning on helping?”

He waved a hand. “You all seem to have this under control. Come see me after when you need healing.”

Lorraine just looked at him with the best judgmental face she could manage.

Daeran sighed. “Or I could find a crossbow.”

Lorraine tilted her head to the side, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine.” Daeran muttered a spell, sending a protective field over the party. “Are you happy now?”

“More so. Now find that crossbow.”

“Right. Because that’s as effective as you punching demons in the stomach. Now be a dear and continue to do that, because there are more coming.”

More babaus streamed into the camp. At the head of the pack a nabasu demon swooped in from out of the sky, its bat-like wings folding against its back as it landed. Three arrows pounded into it. It roared, turning its gaze toward Lann.

Desperate to grab its attention, Lorraine fired a ray of heavenly light into the nabasu. It swiveled its head around and rushed toward her. There was no time to dodge. Lorraine crossed her arms in front of her face as she braced for its charge. It rammed into her, knocking her head back. Her jaw clamped on her tongue. Spitting out a glob of blood, Lorraine felt herself tense as the nabasu tried to drain her life force. Gritting her teeth, she sent a flurry of punches into it.

From the other side of camp, Seelah chopped her way through the babau toward the nabasu, blocking spear thrusts. The nabasu tried to claw and bite Lorraine, but she weaved back and forth, dodging its attacks before sending another round of punches into it. The skin on her knuckles scraped over its rough hide causing drops of blood to fall from her fingers as well.

“You, uh, got that, Chief? I can wait over here.”

Lorraine did a spinning kick to be able to glare at the tiefling rogue. “Woljif, I thought you were better than Daeran.” Blood dribbled onto her chin.

“I didn’t think I was better than nobody, Chief, but that’s not a high bar you’re giving me.” Woljif sprinted up and stabbed the nabasu in the wing.

“I’m standing right here,” Daeran protested.

“I did notice the ‘just standing’ part,” Lorraine snapped.

Seelah finally made it to the nabasu, a pile of babaus in her wake, and prayed to Iomedae as she called down a smite.

“I’m trying to commit this scene to memory. Maybe I’ll get Sosiel to paint it. The valiant Commander, fighting off a demon three times her size with her bare hands with no thought to her injuries,” Daeran said languidly.

Lorraine made sure to spit out her next mouthful of blood in his general direction, but it merely fell into the dirt.

Seelah struck from behind the nabasu with her longsword, cutting straight through its neck and sending the severed head flying into the darkness. The nabasu crumpled.

Silence fell over the camp.

“Is that all of them?” asked Lorraine.

“If there were any more cultists, they’ve fled,” answered Lann.

Lorraine nodded. “Everyone alright?”

A round of affirmatives went around the group. Lorraine could hear Ember starting to cast a healing spell.

“I think the question is are you alright, dear Commander? Unless you think the blood on your chin brings out your eyes,” said Daeran.

Swirling the metallic taste in her mouth, Lorraine spat out more blood. “I’m not dying, I just bit my tongue.”

“So you don’t want healing, then?” Daeran smirked at her.

“You do know I have my own healing abilities now.” While technically true, it would be a better use of resources for Daeran to cast a mild healing spell into her. But something about the man brought out the petty side Lorraine thought her monastic training had smothered.

“Now that you’ve been touched by angels, yes of course. But if I’m not mistaken, that’s your same ability you use to explode demons, and that seems slightly more valuable than healing a bitten tongue.”

Off to the side, Seelah was patching up her own injuries and Ember continued to cast healing spells.

“Daeran, since you so desperately want to heal me, how can I say no?” Lorraine smiled sweetly at him, which she figured was probably marred by the blood running out of her mouth.

Daeran opened his mouth to retort, then sighed. He walked over and knelt down in front of her. “Now don’t bleed on me, this is silk.”

“That’s what you can think of?”

“We’ve already determined no one’s actively dying.” He cast the incantation and touched her jaw.

Lorraine could feel her tongue forming itself back together and the scrapes on her knuckles smoothing over. “Thank you, Daeran.”

He waved a hand. “Say nothing of it. Now I highly suggest washing.”

From across the camp, Ember coughed and cast another healing spell. Lorraine twisted around to see a dribble of blood fall out of the corner of Ember’s mouth as Ember’s small healing spell closed up a wound in her chest.

“Ember!” Lorraine rushed over to the girl’s side as Ember fell to her knees, coughing.

“I don’t have… strong enough healing spells.” Ember coughed again, more red droplets falling from her lips. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t notice that you were hurt.” Lorraine tried to hold down her panic as she touched Ember and let the heavenly power she could access flow into the girl. Ember still continued coughing.

“My lungs hurt. They hurt less now, though.” Ember tried to smile at Lorraine, wincing.

“Just sit still, Ember. We’ll have you fine soon enough.” Lorraine looked up to see Daeran kneeling next to her by Ember’s side. He started casting, his hard on Ember’s shoulder as he poured magic into her.

Seelah rushed over and laid her hand on Ember’s other shoulder, also pouring healing magic into the girl. Lorraine watched, feeling mostly useless as Ember’s breathing became more and more regular.

After what seemed like forever, Ember smiled up at Seelah and Daeran. “Thank you.” She turned to Daeran. “See? You’re not as bad of a person as you think you are.”

Daeran brushed her off. “I assure you, my dear Ember, than I am entirely as a conceited and self-centered person as I appear to be.”

“No, you’re not. You heal us. You care for us. You’re afraid that we might care for you.” Ember smiled at Daeran in her detached way.

Daeran stood up, brushing off his knees. “If it helps you sleep at night. Speaking of sleeping, I suggest we get back to it. It’s what people usually do at night, yes?”

“Ah, yes. Let’s just go back to sleep surrounded by demon bodies. That sounds charming. Really sets the mood for sweet dreams,” said Lann.

Lorraine stood up. “We should probably move. We made a lot of noise, more might come investigate. Ember, are you doing alright?”

“I’m doing much better now!” the girl said brightly, apparently unaffected once again by her latest brush with death.

“Right, let’s pack up and hike for a bit.” Lorraine cut off Daeran’s protest. “And then you can sleep for as long as you want, Daeran. You’ve earned it.”

[parasite-core]

@faunscozyspace so here’s the looong answer

So Draven was a regular poor farm kid in Mendev, the country unfortunate enough to be next to a demonic rip in reality called the Worldwound. Because of it the land is mostly fallow so farming is not lucrative. His parents supplemented it by fishing in the Lake of Mists and Veils, but the lake is treacherous and they had to be cautious with their expeditions. His father also did odd jobs around town, helping to fix roofs and tools or tend to cattle, and was all around generally well liked, so they got by because of their community.

Then one day demons broke through the Wardstone barrier protecting the rest of the world from the Worldwound. This demon raiding party came across Draven’s family farm, and they tortured and slaughtered everyone inside. They were not fast about it, and at one point Draven lost consciousness from the pain and trauma of what was happening around him. He was saved by some local retired crusaders who’d heard the commotion and grabbed their old arms and armor to slay and chase off the abyssal scourge. Unfortunately, Draven was the only survivor. He was in a coma for close to a month while his wounds healed—all but a terrible mark on his left arm, the Mark of Deskari, the demon lord of Locusts and Pestilence, which never closed and scarred, but festered and bled. The cleric’s finally had him bandage it and told him to keep it hidden, as others would jump to the wrong conclusions about such a thing.

Unfortunately rumors had already begun to spread, and by the time he was taken into the Light-Oath Orphanage, owned by one of the retired crusaders, former captain Scarlet Jules, the children had heard of him. The boy who had survived what no one should have. The boy whose body had become strangely hardy since the ordeal, despite having been a somewhat scrawny kid in his youth. The boy who might have made a deal with a demon. The boy who might have demonic blood inside of him. The boy marked by evil. The boy who might not be a boy as all, but a demon in disguise. All kinds of rumors followed him, and it left him isolated from his peers.

Until Leto Jules held out a hand of friendship.

Leto was a brilliant golden tiefling, abandoned to the orphanage with no record of who his mother and father were. He was roughly the same age as Draven, maybe a little younger. He understood being shunned for rumors and connections to demons you had no control over. So he tried to invite Draven to play with him. At first Draven was hesitant. He had never met a tiefling before, and his appearance with his sharp fangs and twisted horns brought to mind the monsters that had killed his family and tortured him. He refused. But Leto did not relent. He kept trying to befriend Draven, taking every opportunity he could to try to include him. He wouldn’t force the subject when Draven said no, but he would always come back when another opportunity arose. Eventually Draven warmed up to his presence, and then grew fond of it. After a year together the two of them became inseparable. Draven in time grew to think of Leto as a surrogate brother. Leto in turn grew very protective of Draven, despite Draven seeing himself as the one who needed to protect those around him.

And as those two grew close, Leto’s natural charm began drawing others to them as well. Gabrielle, a kindhearted aasimar cleric, whose instructors feared she was too soft for the work of a field medic. Sophia, an orphaned Kellid girl who lived up to her people’s reputation for battle. She was fierce and vicious, but she had a clear soft spot for Gabrielle, who also worried over her in combat and tended to favor healing her—sometimes to the detriment of others. Everyone in the group knew Sophia had a crush on Gabbie and vice-versa—it was only a matter of time until those two boneheads came out and admitted it. Issac, the youngest of the group and the only one besides Draven who didn’t came to the orphanage as an infant. Issac lost his parents in an accident he didn’t like talking about when he was 13. He was quiet, shy, extremely unsure of himself despite his clear skill with magic, and always a bit droopy-eyed, like she was about to fall asleep. He was also the only religious skeptic in the group, despite being a celestial blooded sorcerer. And last but certainly not least was Lorette, a bard who was seeking for his friends to make big names for themselves so he could be the one to write the ballads and tales and earn a name for himself in that manner. He was a short blond man whose large personality made up for his stature. He was always the most boisterous in the room, always the center of attention, and generally pretty well liked by the sorts who enjoy his kind of big personality.

So these six made an adventuring party, and when Draven was 20 they headed out to the Crusader city of Kenabres to enlist.

Things…didn’t go well. About an hour outside of the city, a demon broke through the Wardstone again. Draven felt the Mark of Deskari on his arm begin to burn and bleed severely, and he immediately knew something was wrong. There was no time to warn his friends before all hell broke loose. They had trained together, they knew how to fight…in theory. But they had never been in a real battle. And they didn’t have cold iron or good aligned weapons, so even when they did hit the target it did nothing. The demon ripped them apart. Gabrielle—innocent and sweet, aimed at for being an aasimar, never saw it coming. Sophia—flying into a hopeless rage over the love she’d never confessed to’s corpse, before falling beside her. Issac, terrified, trying to draw on his celestial power in one breath and cursing the gods that had turned his life into this mockery in the next. He fell silent with barely a whimper. Lorette tried to flee, all grandeur lost. He didn’t get far.

Draven tried to defend Leto with his shield. He felt claws rake across his face, there was a terrible pain and then a terrible cold, and then the next thing he remembers is waking up in a temple’s healing center in Kenabres. Somehow Leto had gotten them to safety, the lucky bastard. But not before Draven had lost his left eye.

He had to spend the next year relearning the sword and shield with only one eye, regaining his hand eye coordination and relearning to tell distances, and in that time he ended up relegated to the lowest most looked down upon branch of the crusades: The Raven Corps. And there he remained.

Until the fateful day the Wardstone was destroyed, he and six others were tossed into the caverns below Kenabres, and by the end of it his recent friend and mentee from the Raven Corps, Auriel Answerer, died in battle against a Baphomet Cultist who had been leading a conspiracy to infiltration the Church of Iomedae, after dealing her a crippling blow. Auriel we discovered after his death had been meant to be Iomedae’s Chosen One, the Paladin to wield the intelligent holy sword Radiance. However since Auriel’s spirit vouched for Draven, both the honor and the burden or wielding Radiance fell to Draven. Radiation was not pleased—they did not come off as terribly fond of their replacement wielder who wasn’t even a true Paladin.

Not longe after we met an eldritch archer magus in the sewers looking after some orphans. So our party became Luna the innocent accused serial killer The Butcher of Balestreet, Melody the Inquisitor of Shelyn who followed a holy songbird to find us, and Hiskaria a convicted murderer who was supposed to be in the Raven’s Corps as community service under orders of her land’s kind Kevoth-Kul after all forms of execution failed. So Draven has Hiskaria as his responsibility now whether he likes it or not (she grows on him)

Since then long story’s short: we met The person Draven hero worships, Commander Irabeth Tirabade, got a mission from her to destroy the final shard of the Wardstone before the cultists could turn it into a weapon of mass destruction. So we did. And Draven got closer to the party after spending a long time holding them at arm’s length because they risked everything to keep Leto safe after Draven saw a scry that he was in danger and that if they retreated now he might not make it back safely. Hiskaria avoided our entire boss fight by tapping the Wardstone shard with a rod of cancellation while we had her distracted and it blew up and tore the enemies apart. We had some visions of what was meant to happen—all bad—but we broke fate and made a better reality. Then we got the power of the Wardstone and became mythic.

After that we’ve met Iomedae the Inheritor, Draven’s goddess, herself and got three boons from her for helping to cleanse her temple of the Deskari cultists and their desecration. Then we met the Queen of a Mendev who was somehow equally cool. She knighted all of us and promoted Draven whether he likes it or not. So after naming his new Legion he is now Sir Draven Imani, the One-Eye’d Knight, Commander of the Adamant Shield Legion.

A Legion strong enough to stand unyielding before the forces of the Worldwound like an Adamantine Shield to protect the innocent of the world outside.

Since then we’ve led Draven’s army to liberate a number of fortresses. Had some insubordination that almost ended really badly when some of the men went to desert—and then they were snatched up by gargoyles. We fought through hordes of ghouls, gargoyles, a half-fiend gargoyle inquisitor, an incubus, and a nabasu to get to them. The nabasu killed Melody, but by a miracle there was a scroll of resurrection with the healing supplies kept under the podium behind the podium of what was once a church of Iomedae, Draven isn’t powerful enough to cast this magic consistently, so he had to take a gamble…and it worked. With Iomedae and Shelyn’s blessings the spell worked, and we had Melody back. For the first time ever Draven’s curse did not take hold.

The three crusaders we saved were ashamed after we’d literally put our lives in the line for them, and they returned to camp. Draven later spoke to their ringleader Arles. He explained he knew were Arles was coming from—mourning caused people to act irrationally. He just hoped it wouldn’t cause them more problems in the future. Arles gave Draven a book of tactics to look over to try to be a better commander in future battles, which from an inscription inside of the cover Draven discovered was originally from Arles’ love Jellel, who had died under Draven’s command in his first real battle leading an army. He committed Jellel’s name to memory, ashamed that he had been so new to command that he hadn’t known anything about them before they died because of his imperfect orders. From here out he became much more focused on his soldiers. He prioritizes what will be best for his men, he doesn’t want to betray the trust of people who are putting their lives on the line for him. Legit if it ever comes down to a choice between doing something that will protect his army or something that protects the party, I don’t know which side of the coin he’ll land on. But I’m heavily leaning protect his men. The others can take care of themselves. His army relies on him, he’s the one with mythic power leading them, if he were to abandon them he’d be choosing the deaths of hundreds or thousands of people and he couldn’t live with himself if he did that.

Fun fact: One of Draven’s mythic abilities is called Divine Source. It gives him two domains as if he were a god, and people who follow him can prepare spells from him as if he were a god. He has *no idea* he has this ability, beyond suddenly having a few new spell-like abilities he didn’t before, but he’s just chalking that up to ‘Wardstone weirdness’ same with him suddenly learning to speak celestial (and he’s going to freak when he suddenly learns Abyssal next level 😈) I look forward to the day someone in his army spontaneously starts getting protection domain spells from him and it’s like “that’s not Iomedaen. Draven we’ve seen you cast this on Melody before do you know what this is?” And Draven will nope out of existence because he didn’t want to be a commander he definitely doesn’t want to be a god or god adjacent, Melody can be the party’s demi-god thanks.

Anyways he led his army to march on the Citadel city of Drezen, which had been captured and held by demons for 100 years. No one had managed to get close to taking it back since, everyone who had tried died.

The party took it back in three days. One to clear out the exterior defenses. One to clear out the first floor and kill the army’s commanding officer and show off his severed head in the most dramatic way Draven could think of to make the enemy army retreat, and one to go into the basement and kill a Shadow Demon and save their friend who he was possessing.

And then the demon general Aponavicious almost cut Draven’s head off through a portal, if he hadn’t activated the magical Sword of Valor—the banner once wielder by Iomedae herself—at just the right time. It closed the portal and saved his life. But things weren’t over. She couldn’t teleport directly in, but she could teleport her army outside and march on Drezen. And that’s what she began to do. With an army of thousands upon thousands of demons.

Until a single figure in shining silver armor stepped out from behind Aponavicious. A golden tiefling. He spoke to her, then viciously wrapped her in spiked chains. Words were had, and then the army retreated.

Leto looked across the battlefield at Draven, held up his right hand, and Draven felt the mark on his left hand began to react. He heard Leto’s voice in his head. “Don’t worry. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Then he teleported away, too.

So Draven was nearly catatonic for a bit after that revelation of his brother working with the enemy. He tried Sending Leto but only got a response that wishes come true when you least expect them, and to meet him at the Ivory Labyrinth. And that he would protect him.

So Draven is extremely confused. Then a few days later it turned out Melody is actually the demigod child of Desna and Shelyn, so there’s that on top of things. Then Draven had some more self revelations a few days later.

None of them good.

They’d been asked by Irabeth, who’d been promoted to Lord Captain of Drezen, to look into stopping some raiders who were attacking their supply lines. Easy right? Just people, no cults, no demons, just desperate people in the Worldwound making bad choices. We could deal with that.

Or so we thought, until the party got lost in a petrified forest in the way to the raiders fortress, and Draven’s mark started acting up, so consistently that they could use it as a compass pointing the way to their destination. So clearly there was more to this than met the eyes.

Luna discovered that the raiders were being held here and forced to continue their raids at threat of death by their leader Marhokev. Luna promised if he led them to their leader, she and her friends would take care of him so they could go free. He warned that if it came down to a fight, Marhokev would force us to fight the raiders. Luna assured him that we had a lot of resources in our side to keep them safe. The raider placed his faith in us, and after working out how to get the entire party past the alarms Luna had passed via Invisibility, we were led inside.

There Draven met a large raider man who immediately locked eyes with him and grinned, referring to Draven as kin. Seeing Draven’s confusion he explained they both shared Lady Jerribeth’s blood. And they had both made a wish. Draven was confused and trying not to give into his first instinct to just go on the offensive, instead shakily explaining that he didn’t know what the man was talking about. Marhokev laughed, realizing Draven didn’t remember what he had wished for. So he told Draven a story. About his own life. His family had lived faithfully in Mendev for generations. And all it had saddled him with was demonic taint in his blood. He’d lived with a violent temper his entire time. He’d found it impossible to make a name for himself, or to keep down any sort of respectable position.

Then one day Lady Jerribeth came to him, and offered him anything he could desire. So he wished for power. And now he had it. Power and people to lord it over. He was living the life of a king as a raider. So, when given the chance to have it all, he took it. And it appeared when Draven was given the same chance, he’d squandered it away on something he couldn’t even recall. A pity. But Mahokev still felt something for their kinship, so he was willing to open his arms to let Draven join his band.

Draven said absolutely not, and that the time for talking was over. That was his final answer. He saw now what sort of man Mahokev was, and hr wasn’t one Draven could do anything for.

The raider flew into a mindless rage and attacked Draven, but Draven reflected him off his shield. Draven managed to hit the raider, but his rage powers activated to begin healing the damage, leaving Draven’s average sword arm virtually useless as-is.

While he had his stand off, Hiskaria blasted the raider’s pet ice drake with a scorching ray and peppered it with arrows, quickly finishing the beast before it was a terrible threat.

And Melody began dancing, distracting the other raiders so that the party wouldn’t have to hurt them.

Hiskaria and Luna began helping Draven to damage the raider, their much more respectable damage output doing a number on him. He made a break for it, aiming for Melody to try to snap his minions out of their trances.

Draven was having none of that. He was aiming to stop him in his tracks—but he stopped him alright, with a blade right through the rib cage and into the heart. Marhokev fell.

It appeared the battle was over. Melody ended her performance with a flourish, the raiders were grateful that we hadn’t killed any of them and that now they could leave the Worldwound and return to the places they’d once been from, or make new homes elsewhere.

None of the party were paying Marhokev’s corpse any mind. Not until his marked arm had ripped itself from its socket, and clamped onto Draven’s throat. He failed his save and suffocated, being knocked unconscious immediately despite his frankly absurd number of hit points. Melody ran over and yanked the hand off Draven. Burnt flesh pulled away from where the hand met skin, and underneath a second Mark of Deskari was emblazoned across his neck.

Draven’s had a lot to think about since then. His feelings about having demon’s blood in his veins in general, as well as his feelings about it being Jerribeth’s blood specifically, the architect of Drezen’s fall, likely the cause of his family’s deaths, likely the Glabrezu who made Leto start acting strangely, and a demon with untold amounts of innocent blood on her hands. He’s wondering exactly what he wished for—he assumes as a terrified tortured child who just saw his family tortured and killed that he probably wished for it to end and to be safe, but he doesn’t know the exact wording, which with these things the exact wording is important. He’s going to wait to talk to Nurah to try to regain his lost memories for that. He’s also really worried about what sort of wish Leto made. And he’s worried that he’s compromised, that when he meets Jerribeth in person no matter how much he hates her she’ll be able to worm her way into his mind and make him do what she wants because of him being so bound to her. Plus the foreboding feeling about having a new mark of Deskari, and the fact he feel like more power began to awaken within him when he received it. The fear that his soul is bound for Deskari no matter how faithful he is to Iomedae, and had been since he was a child. There’s just…a lot.

He also just really wants to kill Jerribeth.

[pettynam]

Biko

Willet

Dallon Wheeks

Askari

Baguette

Waffle

Baliyo

Woodson

Linkers

Sage

Sausage

Feta

Sâhasí

Midnight

Growler

Pancake

Critter

Kugabu

Taco

Sixtus

Renatus

Ignatius

Little King Trashmouth

El Diablo

Janja

Genji

Lykoi

Gir

Zim

Coffee Bean

Uncle Max

Yogi

Turbo

Lutra Lutra

Moo Moo

Blinkin

Niall

Mango

Aslan

Koi

Frog King

Akkoro Kamui

Kuchi Kopi

Scottjon Dansteve

Big Ben

Dumbledore

Toboggan

Chubs

Taj

Lionel

Hans

Hendrix

Colonel Fluffers

Kestrel

Aang

Skip Marooch

Pesto

Ridge

Sparrow

Sphinx

Uncle Feathers

Harrison

Wilder

Zev

The Beaver

Wagstaff

Meadowlark

Lautoro

Heron

Dr. Ernest Hawk

Gannet

Kojima

Money Goose

Syrup

Mr. Cow

Jaribu

Wiko

Chumvi

Lance

Mr. Pinecone

Pine

Meadow

Sudeikis

McConkey

Zazu

Apollo

Aspen

Caspian

Rafiki

Dove

Buddah

Clover

Namaste

Ghandi

Drew P. Neck

Pickles

Cheese

Fromage

Bat Broom
Mr. Flapjack

James Van Der Beak

Armisen

Rust Stain

Mr. Fishsticks

Appa

Zox

Simba

Pumbaa

Scar

Mufasa

Jackknife

Gator

Rosewood

Carlo

Peregrine

Sphenoid

Incus

Mr. Bear

Moon

Thorax

Ozuru

Ortega

Paco

Jericho

Bosco

Starling

Bruno

Zorobabel

Norbert

Ted Leo

Kyro

Sparrow

Letchworth

Zamir

Talon

Remus

Clarence

Percy

Puppy

Albus

Goigoi

Dogo

Ivo

Artemis

Pudge

Zito

Octavian

Ziga

King Sokwe

Majinuni

Shujaa

Kiazi

Pãgala

Bob Burger

Krud'dha

Burger

Bambun

Ajabu

Abu

Kambuni

Domog

Bogino

Kifaru

Young Rhino

Bupu

Boboka

Hitashi

Nabasu

Kwato

Masikio

Kongwe

Azaad

Moose

Old Civet

Tompok

Makuu

Hadithi

Art

Seisou

Yun Mibu

Pete Zaparti

Binga

Flint

Kopa

Echo

Happy

Shark

Kinyonga

Mapigano

Kitendo

Valentine

Loki

Zucker

Bird

Rain

Calum

Crawford

Chai

Grover

Rex

Crow

Lotus

Lyman

Benjiro

Ichiro

North

Kazuo

Ringo

Vail

Oricorio

Pumpkaboo

Rockruff

Bernie

Skiddo

Keldeo

Zekrom

Rufflet

Bear

Pablo

Montero

Abel

Shauku

Vullaby

Cubchoo

Beartic

Sawsbuck

Vincent

Deerling

Roserade

Rampardos

Luxio

Piplup

Sealeo

Walrein

Whiscash

Swablu

Spinda

Torkoal

Wailord

Vigoroth

Wingull

Swellow

Taillow

Luicolo

Zigzagoon

Stantler

Houndour

Houndoom

Mantine

Octillery

Corsola

Qwilfish

Quagsire

Sunflora

Jumpluff

Skiploom

Sudowoodo

Azumarill

Bellossom

Xatu

Crobat

Chinchou

Onyx

Noctowl

Furret

Quilava

Seaking

Horsea

Fred

Quintillius

Tulius

Gopher

Baton

Murph

Gulliver

Pidgey

Barack

Greene

Rutherford

Wailmer

Kylo

Sharpedo

Keith Moon

Hugo

Ned the Elephant

Little Jimmy

Horace

Kovu

Lake

Meadow

Tarintino

Remington

Lobo

Static

Elon

Ludo

Hornsby

Roscoe

Rocco

Aliki

Cousteau

Quillson

Bones

Mjomba

Goose

Inkwell

Jairo

Mr. Business

Indigo

Croque

Frobert

Ribbot

Wart Jr

Quint

Ezra

Quentin

Forrest

Enzo

Leland

River

Dalton

Oscar

Gus

Dallon

Silas

Draper

Irving

Judah

Emmett

Isaac

Basil

Walter

Wilbur

Miles

Jasper

Adam

Beau

Warren

Leif

Ronan

Cedric

Levi

Cecil

Atlas

Edgar

Finn

Leo

Rowan

Romeo

Everett

Keith

Lucius

Remus

Bruno

Lowell

Arden

Horatio

Ike

Winston

Rudy

Keaton

Errol

Bjørn

Rory

Valentino

Emerson

Ross

Servius

Sven

Dexter

Gem

Julio

Dorian

Gustav

Oskar

Cyril

Felix

Peep

Speedy the Snail

Boss Beaver

Toucan Dan

Rabbit

Gonzo

Fletcher

Denali

[real-live-human]

Floor 6, Room 26

weekly theme: greed

nabasus are demons embodying unending greed and gluttony, with a ravenous appetite for mortal souls.

monsters: 1x nabasu

loot: there is nothing of value here.

[okaynigeria]

Pantami: DT-TWG critial instrument for implementation of NDEPS

Pantami: DT-TWG critial instrument for implementation of NDEPS

The Minister of Communications and Digital Economy, Prof. Isa Ali Ibrahim Pantami, has said that the Digital Transformation Technical Working Group (DT-TWG) is a critical instrument for the implementation of all pillars of the National Digital Economy Policy and Strategy (NDEPS). The Honourable Minister, who was represented by the Permanent Secretary of the Ministry, Mr. Bitrus Bako Nabasu said…

[toriexpress]

Just IN: FG To Deploy 5G Network Across The Country – NCC

Just IN: FG To Deploy 5G Network Across The Country – NCC

Umar Garba Danbatta, the Executive vice-chairman of the Nigerian Communications Commission (NCC), has expressed that the federal government is ready to deploy fifth-generation (5G) network across the country. Danbatta spoke while responding to questions from Bitrus Bako Nabasu, the new permanent secretary of the ministry of communications and digital economy, during a presentation in Abuja on…