#Demon Tabard

[toadeyes-miqote]

Guess I'll leave you guys here for a bit

O_O! PTSD intensifies!!! On one hand they'll be sheltered from the elements, on the other hand this place looks too darn familiar...

I'm inclined to go see if WHM has anything that looks like armour since this piece is based on Ramie of Aiming. I see why they use Healers for this role quest.

And thus we were assured Hylnyan never dress in this style again and her clothing always ends up with some bits of armour here and there.

Wasn't actively sceenshotting stuff back then.. Kinda sad that her ties here are mostly trade/skills related (Weaver, Miner, Alchemist and Pugilist)

Note -to check on the difference between helping Ashe and Wuk Lamat (Garlemald were still active then?)

[lokisgoodgirl]

Metal & Leather [Loki Odinson x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Prince Loki can't get to you soon enough after an arduous battle. (Yes, another one of those!😇) w/c 1.2k Warnings: Minors DNI. Smut/Fluff. Mild angst. Mild descriptions of injury. Loki x female reader.

The Einherjar’s roar swells higher, heating the cool night air. You run to your balcony overlooking the balustrade as Loki strides towards his mother and father standing poised at the furthest reach, waiting to welcome him: to congratulate him.

The crowds go crazy as Odin hands him something. One abrupt bow, Loki wrote in his letter from the victorious battlefield. One abrupt bow, and I make for my true reward without delay. Do not come to the ceremony. The underline had ripped the paper.

“Is that an order?” you’d asked the empty room while you imagined the wolfish glint of his smile as he wrote it. And now, he was finally here. He was finally home. The nights were long on the realm’s furthest battlefields, and although his victory had been by all accounts swift it still took weeks. Thirteen, to be exact.

Now, you can see the flutter of his cape as he makes a show of turning and striding from the dais where Odin and Frigga stand. He’s coming.

You turn, perching on the stone. You didn’t bother getting dressed properly, just a chiffon open-fronted robe tied loose at the waist. Warm air sighs over your skin as you wait, and wait. The main event is right here: and it starts in five…four…three— There’s an abrupt knock at the door. “Come,” you call sweetly. Loki pushes it open. His chin is lowered to the glint of his metal breastplate, his shadowed eyes swimming with promise in the flickering gloom. The hand curled around the ceremonial spear he just received from Odin tightens when he sees you, and his lips curl in a smile. Dark hair spills over his exaggerated, armour-clad shoulders and with a low whisper, the spear vanishes.

“The demon-brothels of Musselheim left much to be desired,” Loki sniffs with a sarcasm that can’t mask the affection in his eyes. “Heated in the most inconvenient of ways.” You search his face, noting the glint of his eyes and the twitch of his thin lips. “You’re terrible.”

He strides across the room, cape blooming like ink through water, and gathers you in his arms. “And I’m yours,” he replies as he dips and lifts your legs around his waist. "Aren't you glad, darling? In all my terrible, terrible glory."

The heat still hangs on his leathers from the Bifrost.

His lips slam into yours at force, the thud of his boots and the crisp rustle of his cloak making your thighs tighten. He nudges you higher, and eager fingers slip past his temples, fisting his hair, noting the ghost of bruises that shadow his face. Loki’s fingers pull at the ribbons holding your robe together, their slither between his calloused fingers and the nip of Asgard’s night air against your nipples flooding your brain. He’s home, he’s here, he’s safe. Thank you; thank you.

Your pussy slips against the metal buckle flush to his abdomen, and Loki’s kiss wanes. He pulls back as you’re rested on the wide flat of the balcony wall, towering over you like the victorious god he is. You reach to brush his tabard aside, but a hand flies out to stop it.

“No,” he says hoarsely, and for the first time you see the raw abrasions on his knuckles, the purple cloud edging from his wrist armour. He trails a finger down the valley of your throat, between the swell of your breasts. “My love..” The softness of his voice so at odds with the battle-weary figure he cuts. He never thinks you want him like this. Not at first: coated in the evidence of his destruction. You reach tentatively for his leathers, and this time he lets you brush the flap aside. Loki of Asgard stiffens as you unlace him, pulling him closer, kissing him deep. “My love,” you whisper against his heated, gritty skin. A shiver wrenches through him. When Loki returns from war, all the lust he’s re-directed bubbles over. This time is no different. You feel his fingers run over your hair, grabbing a clutch, tilting your head back. Loki’s mouth descends on your exposed neck: biting, sucking, groaning his need for you against the delicate, willing flesh. There’s a smack of metal against leather, a grunt as he positions himself between your spread legs. The balcony stone scrapes against the back of your thighs as he places a palm on your lower spine, protecting you from the drop. And then, he’s inside you. His cock claims the deepest part of you, and Loki swears as he bottoms out with a decisive thrust.

With one hand hanging against his neck, and the other gripping the belt slung over his shoulder, you ride the devastating thrusts he delivers with each jangling snap of his hips. Loki’s cock, and his love, are the missing pieces of you—the parts he takes whenever he leaves to fulfil his duty. But this is his duty, and you both know it. Ragged gasps scrape from Loki’s throat, his fingertips clawing against your back so desperately you know the truth of his desire will be marked on you by the night’s end. Purple, blue; just like the evidence of violence painted on his skin.

He curls close, and you wrap both arms around his neck, pulling the god’s face closer into the curve of your shoulder.

Loki’s illusion has wavered. His hair is matted, crisped with sweat and battle and bifrost and you inhale deeply, willing your love for him to wash it all away. His thrusts are sloppy now, out of time with the fiery grunts blasting against the shell of your ear. He smells like metal, and leather – and gods, you never want anything else.

“I’ll always come home to you,” he says, and you know he’s picturing the enemies he had to slay to get here. He never tells you everything of what he’s seen—but it changes him. It makes his love fiercer. The crowd packing the balustrade cheers at the conclusion of some speech: Thor’s, probably. But Loki’s body draws like a bow and you feel the tighten of his jaw against your neck. “I can’t stop it,” he pants, and you buck harder against him. There will be time for your pleasure later—Loki will make sure of it. In the baths, in the bed you share, in the blankets and pillows strewn through slats of amber sunlight on the endless days with him by your side. For now, in the torch-lit gloom where he wears the stains of hard-won victory, he needs this: he needs you. And right now, your pleasure is bringing his home.

The tunic, warm from your friction, scrapes your inner thighs as he seals his cock inside you once, twice, three times. On the fourth, he holds the throbbing tip at the entrance to your slit, his wild eyes meeting yours. “All for you,” he gasps, and his eyebrows peak.

Everything: he means everything. The sacrifice, the vulnerability he shares— the fact you’d only need to ask and he would tear the sky down in your name. Your lips touch, and he groans happily as he sinks inside a final, lingering time.

The force of his cum hits the back of your cunt and his whole body tightens. A tremble works through him while the grip on your back falters, and his knees wobble. He pulls you close, groaning his climax into your mouth; the heat of his breath and the fury of his love rippling across every nerve in your body. Below, drums begin: lyres, chanting, prayer. “You’re home,” you whisper, slotting your nose at the side of his. “You’re safe.” “Home,” he murmurs as the cool metal at his abdomen chills your flushed skin. He thrusts a final, gentle time, and you cross your ankles at his lower back, sealing him close. Loki smiles, “That’s all I ever wanted.”

❤️Tags in comments! x Next story will be Wednesday 18 Sept as I'm on holiday next week🌄

[bwabys-scenarios]

Along the way

Pt. 1

Fantasy!HXH AU

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

A/N: wanted to have some fun with a fantasy version of Hunter x Hunter involving the main four and the reader :3 this is purely for fun and idk how often I’ll update it, depends on my mood. Also this will have some inspiration from Yona of the Dawn and Frieren!

If you’d like to be ADDED to the taglist, please comment saying you want to be added, make sure you’re able to be tagged/mentioned, and have your age in your bio(IF YOU ARE ALREADY ON THE TAGLIST, YOU DON’T NEED TO ASK TO BE ADDED AGAIN!!)

(Name) couldn’t remember the last time she had ever been hungry. Every day she woke up to breakfast in bed, and was quickly guided to the dining hall for lunch. Dinner was never late, considering she ate with her father, the King.

But right now, her stomach growled painfully as she was led by the hand by the only person that she had left from her life as a princess.

“Kurapika… I’m hungry.”

The blonde’s elf ears twitched, telling her that he definitely heard her. His grip tightening on her hand was enough for her to understand that he was upset he couldn’t do anything about it. “I know, princess.”

“I’m tired, too.”

He sighed softly, but didn’t slow down. “I’m well aware. We have to keep going, you’ll get a break when the sun rises. By then we should be far enough from the castle to avoid detection.”

She huffed, her eyelids dropping slightly as they continued to walk. “I just hope Papa will meet us soon… he’s always taking his time.”

Kurapika stayed silent at that, simply continuing to guide her through the dense forest. Instead of replying to her, his thumb rubbed the back of her hand gently, as if he was attempting some form of comfort.

He hadn’t been lying, the elf did not let her rest until the sun came out. Even then, she was upset to know they would be sleeping in a dark and smelly cave. “The scent will help mask ours, princess,” Kurapika said after she pouted at him.

“I’d rather be eaten by demons than smell like moldy cheese,” she mumbled as he prepared a spot for her to sleep on.

“Don’t pout, it’s unbecoming of a princess. You should rest while you can, we’ll be leaving at nightfall.”

He sat in the corner, a hand on his sword as she settled down on the makeshift bed of his tabard and moss. Kurapika covered her in his cloak once she was settled, his brown eyes soft with concern.

“You’re not going to sleep?”

(Name) looked up at him, her eyes half lidded as she fought her sleep. He managed a small smile, reaching out to gently pet her head. “Elves don’t need as much sleep as humans do. I’ll be fine, just go to bed.”

She didn’t argue, simply laying her head back down and drifting off to sleep. As she did, Kurapika’s smile faded, and a look of absolute fury crossed his face at the sight of his exhausted princess.

Just a few hours ago, she had been getting ready for bed, and he had been guarding her room. Everything was peaceful, as it always was.

“Kurapika, can you come sit with me until I fall asleep?” she asked, peeking her head out of the door. He smiled, sheathing his sword before slipping through the crack in her door.

“Yes, of course princess. You always have trouble sleeping on your own…” Kurapika said, sitting in a chair next to her bed after tucking her in. “Do you require anything else?”

She looked away shyly, offering her hand. “Can you hold my hand too?”

Without a word he took her hand in his, gently caressing the back of it with his thumb. (Name) smiled, her eyelids drooping. “Thank you…”

With that, she was fast asleep. Times like this almost made Kurapika forget about his troubled past. Getting to see his princess live a good and happy life was all he could want.

He had achieved his goals in avenging his clan, she was all he had now. And that’s why what happened just an hour later angered him so.

His kind, sensitive princess was woken with a start as the sounds of explosives shook the castle. Kurapika was quick to comfort her, holding the princess in his arms and lifting her up.

“W-what was that?”

Another explosion rocked the building, causing him to tighten his grip on her. “I’m not sure, but we need to go.”

He held onto her with one arm as he left her room, drawing his sword with the other. The feeling of her trembling hands gripping his shirt grounded the elf, and his ears twitched. There was the faint sound of someone screaming, and thundering footsteps.

“Shit…”

Kurapika never swore in front of (Name), trying his best to stay levelheaded in her presence, but the aura he was picking up was making him boil with rage.

“Demons.” he spat out, darting down a corridor and hiding in an empty room. He covered her mouth as the sound of skittering and footsteps echoed down the halls. The smell of sulfur and fire wafted through the crack in the door, making his sensitive princess gag.

“I’m not sure what’s going on, but demons are supposed to be forbidden from entering the palace walls. And for this many to be here…”

Before she could even register it, Kurapika was carrying her out of the room and sprinting down the halls. She was still only half awake, glancing around to try and get her bearings.

That was a mistake.

As they passed by the throne room, (Name) watched as her father was cornered by a pack of demons. They were tall and intimidating, wearing black cloaks to hide their appearances.

“Where is the girl? The one you have passed your knowledge to?”

Kurapika flattened against the wall, shielding her with his body. He felt like if he moved in that moment, the monsters inside would sense their presence.

“I didn’t… pass it on yet. She hasn’t yet reached her 20th birthday..!”

‘He’s talking about the princess!’ Kurapika thought, his grip tightening on her. He held her close to him, urging her with his scarlet eyes to keep quiet as a mouse.

“Could be all lies. Tell the lower rank soldiers to search for her. She’ll most likely be alone or guarded by a human knight, which is no match for even the lowest ranked demon.”

The sound of flesh being sliced made Kurapika wince, and he covered (Name)’s ears just in time. Kurapika used the noises of her father’s final cries to hurry her out of the castle and into the surrounding woods.

“W-what about papa?” she asked, frantically looking around. “H-he was in the thrown room, w-“

Kurapika covered her mouth and raised his hand, castings a quick spell to hide their presence before a pack of demons came bounding down the forest path. He did his best to comfort her, shielding her eyes so she couldn’t see that the awful things sniffing around for them.

The lower ranked soldiers were barely sentient, more like mindless hellhounds than actually people. Their gray, decaying flesh rotted off of their bodies as they sniffed the ground. Thankfully, the spell Kurapika cast hid both their appearance and scent.

One of the beasts stopped near the two, its ears pricked up as it listened closely. Kurapika held his breath, ready to draw his weapon at any moment…

But a bush a few yards away shook, causing the beats to start growling and barking, immediately running off to see what was there. Kurapika used this chance to get pick up (Name) and run.

That’s how they ended up in the cave. The smell of the musty air would mask their scents long enough for them both to get some rest.

Kurapika watched the sleeping princess, sighing softly as he caressed her cheek. She was such a sweet, innocent girl. She didn’t deserve to be hunted down like a dog.

Despite Kurapika’s hatred for humankind for their slaughter of his kin, he held (Name) in high regards. The only reason he drew breath was because of her kindness, so he had dedicated the rest of his long life to protecting that kindness.

So the fact someone had taken her throne when she was so close to becoming queen angered him beyond belief. Kurapika had seen the way she cared for her subjects, and the demons taking over would only mean the suffering of all the humans living in her kingdom. It would break her heart, being helpless to do anything.

But Kurapika would let endless men and women die if it meant keeping her safe. He already had plans to take her somewhere remote where she could live out her life in peace and safety.

Though, it seemed she had a different idea.

When (Name) woke up, she ate the pheasant he hunted while looking at the cave wall in though. “Those demons… they took over the palace.”

Kurapika nodded, washing her nightgown as she sat, covered by his cloak. “Yes, princess. It is much too dangerous for us to try and go b-“

“Just the two of us? Yes, it would be too dangerous. But…”

She picked up a stick and started drawing in the dirt. “You said the nearest town is only a few miles away by foot, right? Well, maybe we can find a guild and hire a party to slay the demons!”

“With what money, princess? And the demons will be searching for you in every town near the castle. It will be dangerous to-“

“That’s why I’m gonna wear a disguise!”

She stood, walking over to some moss. “I’ll make a beard and-“

“My princess…” Kurapika interrupted. “I could just use a spell to change your appearance.”

“Oh.”

She blushed, sitting back down. “We’ll do that then.”

“…”

Kurapika didn’t exactly love the idea, so he spoke up again. “But we still don’t have the money for such a thing. Hiring a party is already costs a hefty sum, and the type of people we’ll need to drive out demons, especially the kind that have invaded the palace would be hard to find, let alone pay.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. Kurapika loved her dearly, but his princess was extremely sheltered. She didn’t understand the concept of how much things cost. “Listen my princess, I can take you somewhere safe, where you can live a comfortable life. It might not be the luxurious life you’re used to, but you’ll still be happy.”

“B-but…”

Kurapika looked back to her, freezing when he saw tears trailing down her cheeks. “I don’t… want my people to suffer when I could be doing something… why do I get to be safe and happy while they’re under the reign of demons?”

She did have a point, and her kindness is what made Kurapika adore her in the first place. His elf ears twitched and he rubbed the back of his neck.

To be honest, Kurapika cared not for other humans… but he would to next to anything to make her happy.

“… alright.”

(Name) blinked, looking to him. “Really?”

“Yes… but promise me, if we can’t find a party that will take on our request within a month, you will give up on this.”

She squealed in delight, jumping into his arms. “I promise! Ahh, thank you Kurapika!”

The slightest shade of pink took over his cheeks, and he cleared his throat. “Princess, you still only have my cloak to keep you covered.”

She blinked, looking down at herself before jumping back and checking herself over to make sure she was still completely covered. “A-ah, sorry I forgot…”

‘She’s going to be the death of me…’ Kurapika thought, ringing out her night gown before setting it out to dry.

As he planned out what they would do, he could have sworn he heard something skittering from tree to tree outside… but when he looked, there was nothing…

But a pair of cat-like eyes were staring in at them, wondering when he should strike.

————————

Kurapika held her close to him as they walked towards town. Just an hour before, an entire pack of demon hounds passed by their hiding place.

Thankfully, he had placed a magical sensor about 100 feet away that alerted him just in time for him to pull (Name) into the depths of the cave. He covered her mouth, the potent smell of the cave hiding their scent.

The beasts passed by without any trouble, but Kurapika knew it was time to go. More competent soldiers would be there soon to check every nook and cranny of the forest for any signs of life, and Kurapika couldn’t hide her forever.

So they walked down the path, her hand in his. She was still tired, now wearing her freshly cleaned nightgown and his cloak. Her feet were still bare, so he would carry her until his arms ached. Kurapika couldn’t stand the way she winced when she stepped on a pointy rock or on poky leaves.

He wished he could do more, he more useful to her…

‘I’ll buy her a more suitable outfit once we get into town.’ he thought, patting his coin pouch with his free hand. ‘I doubt we’ll be able to find someone willing to take on the demons anyways, no need to save my coin when my princess is in need of new clothing.’

It wouldn’t be the soft silks and fancy patterns she was used to, but it would keep her warm and covered.

“My princess, we’re nearing town.”

She stopped, glancing back at him. Kurapika tied his cloak tighter around her, making sure her stained nightgown couldn’t be seen. “Try not to let your bare feet be noticed. Take small steps, and don’t take off your hood.”

“Anything else?” she asked sarcastically. Kurapika thought for a second, then looped her arm with his.

“Yes. Don’t leave my side, even for a second. I can’t guarantee that the town is safe. There could already be demons hiding amongst the citizens, wearing human disguises.”

She huffed, but listened. For the past 5 years, Kurapika had been her loyal knight, keeping her safe from all harm. (Name) trusted him more than she trusted herself, so of course she would do whatever he said.

“Come, we can only stay in town for so long. We don’t want to draw any attention to ourselves.”

He guided her into the small town, which looked more like a village the more Kurapika thought of it.

There were only a handful of shops that he could see, he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to find her clothes, much less a party that would be willing to take on demons.

He grimaced when a toddler ran by, wearing only wearing a cloth diaper as they were chased by what seemed to be an older sibling. Kurapika disliked humans, finding them to be filthy, nasty things.

“Aww… so cute!”

Kurapika glanced to see (Name) helping the little one up after they tripped, gently dabbing away at a little scrape in their knee with her handkerchief. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s only a little scrape.”

The older sibling blushed as (Name) smiled and helped their younger sibling stand. “Be careful, you’re a big brother, aren’t you? You need to keep better watch of your baby sister. And you…”

She gave the child a headpat. “You need to listen to your big brother. Don’t run away from him, what if a big scary monster snatched you up?”

The two thanked her before walking away hand in hand, waving. She waved back, and Kurapika was quick to grab her hand and pull her towards a quiet place. “Princess, didn’t I say we shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves!? You-“

She pouted at him. “Kurapika, it was just a child. I-“

“Well now those children have seen your face. It not only puts you in danger, but them as well.”

(Name) paused, her eyebrows furrowing as she looked down at the ground. Kurapika sighed, cursing himself for upsetting her.

“Just… try not to talk to anyone or show your face, alright? Come on, we have to hurry.”

She was now quiet as they walked through the small village, her hand in his. Though Kurapika knew her silence was better in the long run, he also felt an ache in his heart when she was quiet.

——————

(Name) sat in a small wooden chair inside a dusty clothing shop. Kurapika was speaking to the owner quietly, occasionally glancing back at her.

While they talked, (Name) took the time to look out the window and really take in the village while it was busy.

The unevenly paved road caused the rickety old carriages drawn by horses to wobble a bit, but the riders seemed used to it. Children ran down the road, spooking the horses a bit and getting yelled at by said riders until they scurried away.

Across from them was a bakery, where she could see a woman rolling out a ball of dough. On the counter were various baked good that reminded (Name) of just how hungry she was.

But… something seemed out of place. Every once in a while as she watched the villagers go about their daily lives, she swore she could see a blur of someone in the trees that surrounded the village. Occasionally, a pair of blue, glowing eyes peered through the leafy canopy, staring right at her.

“U-Um… Kurapika?”

He held up a hand and continued to speak with the shopkeep. ‘Is he… haggling him?’ (Name) sighed softly, turning back to the window.

The thing she saw made her blood ran cold.

On the edge of the tree line was a small figure, looking right at her. She couldn’t make out much besides a head of white hair and piercing blue eyes. (Name) got ready to tell Kurapika, but by the time she blinked… it was gone.

Kurapika approached her, a few items of clothing slung over his shoulder. “What did you need, my p- I mean, miss?”

She didn’t answer for a moment, continuing to stare out of the window. When she did finally speak, he could tell something was wrong. “… nothing. Just thought I saw something.”

The elf was intelligent, he knew that anything out of the ordinary could mean their enemies may be near. So he nodded and escorted her to the dressing room. “Get dressed, we’re leaving now.”

She did as told, glancing through the crack in the door as he kept watch. When she was around, Kurapika kept up a calm and confident facade… but when he thought she couldn’t see him, his face fell slightly with worry.

The princess didn’t truly know what demons were or the history they had with humans or elves, not many humans did. The stories had simply been lost to time, something only an elf who had lived many human lifetimes could remember.

Kurapika was terrified, knowing that these demons would stop at nothing to kill the last person that may know how to truly defeat them.

Demons were incredibly hard to kill, it was easier to just wound them and banish them with a teleportation spell back to hell… but there was one method that could permanently end a demon’s life.

But no, the princess wasn’t aware of how to do that. Why would she be, she was sheltered and had never even held a wand, much less casted a spell.

Instead, the king had passed on this information to Kurapika, not wanting his beloved daughter to be in danger. Kurapika didn’t want her at risk either, so he took on the heavy burden.

The spell called for various magical items to be gathered from across the continent and brought together. It would take ages, and with just the two of them, it wasn’t just dangerous, it was impossible.

Even more troubling, to preform the spell that would banish demons, the caster would have to be a person whose heart was pure and without hate. Kurapika held onto so much hatred and anger, he would never be able to perform such a thing.

‘But…’

Kurapika glanced at the princess as she stepped out of the dressing room, her smile as warm as the afternoon sun. She reached for his hand, giving it a soft squeeze. “It’ll be okay, we’ll get through this together.”

‘Maybe she, the only human I have ever cared for could do it.’

———————

From the branches of a tree, a figure watched as the two walked through the forest. One was some kind of an elf, which the spying figure had been told went extinct years ago.

The other was a young woman, her face hidden by an olive green cloak. She held onto the elf’s hand, and the figure could tell that if she wasn’t with him, the elf would be moving at a much faster pace.

‘Huh, just a single guard? You’d think that at least twenty knights would have escorted her out of the palace.’

The figure jumped silently to another tree once the two started to gain a bit too much distance from him for his liking.

‘She’s rather slow and weak, I can take her out easily. But the elf has been able to successfully evade our soldiers for nearly two days and nights now… oh well, I only need to kill the girl. No need to fight someone I’m not sure I could beat.’

The figure’s tail curled around the branch of the tree, keeping him upright as he leaned forward to get a better look at them.

But unfortunately, he misjudged the strength of the branch and was sent tumbling out of the tree, landing in a bush nearby.

‘SHIT!’

Kurapika pulled his sword out, stepping in front of (Name). “Who goes there? Come out and state your reasons for following us.”

‘Ah, so he knew I was following them.’

The white haired boy quickly hid his tail, retracted his claws, and ruffled his hair to hide his small horns. Once done, he carefully stepped out of the bushes, making sure to make himself look small and scared.

“Oh, it’s just a little boy.”

The boy waved timidly, trying to act like a lost child. “H-hello…”

(Name) peeked out from behind Kurapika, smiling. “Hello there, I-“

Kurapika stepped forward, his sword pointed at the boy’s throat. “I said state your reason for following us.”

(Name)’s eyes widen, and she reached out to gently move Kurapika’s arm so he was pointing his sword at the ground instead. “Kurapika, he’s just a little boy, there’s no need-“

“Just a little boy? My princess, if he was a normal little boy I would be able to hear his footsteps when he walked. This is no ordinary child, he’s trained in the ways of darkness and evil.”

The boy scoffed, crossing his arms. “Huh, you’re good. Wasn’t expecting that. I’ve never had someone realize they couldn’t hear my footsteps before.”

In the blink of an eye, the boy’s claws were sharpened into points, his sharp teeth glistening in the low light. Kurapika’s eyes widened, and he started getting ready to create a barrier around the princess if need be.

“You seem like a smart man. Hand over the girl, and I’ll let you free. You’re an elf, I hear that race and humans have a pretty bad history. Let me guess, you were forced into serving her or execution. Well it’s your lucky day, I’m here to take her out. Then, you’ll be a free elf and-“

The boy’s eyes narrowed as Kurapika’s sword began to glow a deep scarlet, his eyes shining the same color. “You understand nothing, demon. My people hated your kind much more than we hated humans, and this girl means everything to me. I would die before I handed her over to the likes of you.”

‘That sword… I heard stories of elves that could banish demons but…’

“K-Kurapika, wait!”

But it was no use, the two had begun their battle. (Name) was pushed back unceremoniously, falling onto her but a few feet away from the two.

The boy brandished his claws, leaping from the ground and slashing at Kurapika’s throat. He was able to block the attack with his sword just before the boy’s nails sunk into his skin.

Kurapika took advantage of the boy being so close, and used a teleporting spell, sending them 30 yards away. “Hide yourself, (Name)! This boy is an assassin, he’ll take any opportunity to come your way and kill you!”

She gulped, crawling through the gaps of large tree roots and hiding herself under a tree. (Name) couldn’t see what was going on now, but she could hear the sounds of Kurapika swinging his blade and grunting.

It took her back to the days when she would watch him train between lessons. He always took time to send her a soft smile, even walking her to her next destination despite being exhausted and sweaty.

One day, another knight was sparring with him, and when Kurapika got hurt, she started to cry. She rushed over, clingy to him and sobbing as she rubbed her face against his chest.

“Y-you got hurt! You’re bleeding, someone call the-“

Kurapika gently ran his hand over her hair, smiling. “Shh, princess, I’m fine. This is nothing.”

“But…”

His eyes softened as he gently caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Any injury I get while protecting you is just proof of my unconditional devotion. You are my everything, princess. I will shield you with my very body if it means keeping you safe.”

And as she heard the fight get more and more intense, she felt an uneasy feeling settle in her belly.

‘I don’t want Kurapika to die.’

That’s the very thought she had that day, watching as he was bandaged up by a palace doctor. So behind his back, she had begun to learn basic magic, wanting to be somewhat to him in the future.

Although she had never been able to actually cast a spell due to how she was watched like a hawk, she still managed to sneak some of Kurapika’s books into her room to study while he was busy.

When she heard Kurapika gasp in pain, (Name)’s mind raced with what to do. He told her to hide, and Kurapika was usually right, but she would rather die than let him die for her.

So (Name) crawled out of her hiding space, sniffling softly as she began to run towards the two.

The boy had him pinned to the ground, his nails at Kurapika’s throat. The sight was enough to freeze her in her tracks, her heart thumping wildly against her chest.

“L-let him go!”

Despite her legs shaking, and her lip wobbling, she was still able to yell out to the boy. “It’s me you want, don’t hurt him!”

Kurapika turned his head, his nose bleeding. “Princess, what do you think you’re doing, he’s going to-“

The boy let Kurapika go, walking towards her slowly. “Sacrificing yourself to save a measly knight? You’re braver than I thought, princess. I’ll spare the elf, as long as you go down without a fight.”

“Yes… but please, before you kill me, let me know your name.”

Seeing no point in hiding his identity now that his prey was right in front of him, the boy relented. “If that’s your final wish… my name is Killua. Killua of the Zoldyck Royal Family, one of the seven princes of hell.”

“I see… Killua, then. I need you to get down.”

This made the boy pause. Although her body shook and her lip wobbled, her eyes were far from scared. They were determined, steady as they focused on him.

Before he could retreat, a ring formed around the boys wrists, causing him to be pinned to the ground. He yelped, struggling frantically against the glowing rings, but they stayed firm on his wrists.

“W-what the hell did you just do to me!?”

(Name) smiled, her knees giving way as she fell to the ground. She held held up her own wrist, a small ring of light was there, the same as the boy’s.

“I cast a spell to have complete control over your actions. It only works on… demons… and… if I have your name…”

Killua growled, baring his teeth and struggling against his bounds with no luck. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t even lift his head. “You witch! Let me go right now, before I-“

(Name) laughs, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Before you what? Squirm some more? Kick up some dirt? Face it kid, you’re not doing anything until I give you an order.”

He continued to growl and snap his teeth at her, trying to attack, to do anything. As Killua struggled, Kurapika made his way back over, holding his injured arm.

‘That spell… it’s too high level, even for me. How was she able to-‘

He barely caught (Name) in time as she fell forward. Her mana was next to non existent at the moment, leaving her exhausted and barely conscious.

“My princess…”

He cursed himself for not being able to stop her from using such a spell. If he had been a bit stronger, the boy would be dead, and he would be carrying her to bed at this very moment.

But now, he had to deal with the demon growling and snarling at their feet.

“I hope you’ve prepared yourself for death, demon. I can’t have you going back to your horde and informing them of our location.”

Killua let out a laugh, looking up at him. “As if either of you could kill me. Sure, try it out. Injure me, teleport me away to the far ends of the earth, I’ll just keep coming back, and with reinforcements next time.”

“He has a point…”

Kurapika helped (Name) sit up, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood as her head leaned on his chest. She was so weak, she was shaking.

“Princess, you should rest.”

She shook her head, raising her hand. “Stand, Killua.”

The boy immediately sprung up from the ground, standing stiffly in front of them. “(Name)… is the spell still intact?”

She nodded, leaving Kurapika in awe. A spell like that cast by an amateur like her should have fell apart within seconds!

“So we can’t just let him go and I don’t want to kill him…”

“We couldn’t kill him even if we tried, princess.”

She pouted slightly, staring at the boy whose cheek were red with humiliation. He was at the beck and call of a human, he’d be teased by his brothers for weeks!

“… I think I have a solution! Killua, stay still.”

The boy scolded himself for being so cocky. ‘I knew names held power, and yet I freely gave her mine…’

He clenched his fists, growling lowly. ‘As soon as I’m free, I’ll kill that princess, if it’s the last thing I do!’

Killua stiffened up even more if possible as Kurapika and (Name) stepped a few feet away to talk.

The elf grimaced as (Name) seemed to be proposing an idea, disagreeing with her immediately. She then put her hands on her hips… which caused Kurapika to relent.

“Alright, I’ll let you handle this then, princess.”

(Name) smiled, stepping forward. “Alright! Killua, once this order is given, you’ll be able to move freely.”

Killua perked up a little. ‘This is my chance!’

“I’ll be giving you the orders,” she said, holding up two fingers. Kurapika glanced her way, nervous. He didn’t like allowing his princess to handle things in the slightest… but it was their only option. “One, you will not share any information on me, Kurapika, or anyone connected to us.”

He frowned deeply, that would get in the way of his plans… but…

‘Once she’s dead, the spell should dissipate. I’ll just-‘

“The second order is you are no longer allowed to harm, kill, or maim any innocent beings, or any of my loved ones.”

Killua’s jaw dropped. While he didn’t necessarily make a habit out of killing when he didn’t have to, it was still his job. “You can’t be serious, I-“

That’s when he realized… (Name) was but an innocent human… he wouldn’t be kill her. And Kurapika was definitely someone she cared for…

“Those are your orders. You can now move freely.”

Killua’s body relaxed, and he moved forward, launching himself at (Name). Although Kurapika was quick to pull her behind himself, it wasn’t necessary.

Killua froze midair, ancient symbols appearing all over his body. When he dropped to the ground, he seized.

(Name) was quick to kneel down next to him, despite Kurapika’s complaints. “Hey, you’re going to be okay. The effects shouldn’t last that long…”

She lifted his head into her lap, wiping away the drool from the boy’s mouth with her sleeve. “This is what happens when you disobey an order… I’m sorry, from what I read I heard it’s incredibly painful.”

Incredibly painful? It was the worst thing Killua had ever experienced, and he had undergone the harsh training and torture of the Zoldyck family.

But the demon was confused… why was this princess gently wiping his face with a handkerchief, and why was she getting her knight to prop him up against a tree. He couldn’t comprehend why she left a canteen full of water and an apple for him before she left… it didn’t make sense.

“You’re free to do whatever you want, as long as you follow those two orders,” she said, yawning as Kurapika helped her walk. “Goodbye, Killua.”

As they walked away, Killua felt… strange. He had tried to kill her more than once. It would be easy enough to make him take his own life… yet she was letting him go.

Killua sat there under the moonlight, thinking of what his next step should be. He couldn’t return home, that would be a humiliation he would never live down. Him, the heir of the throne, defeated by a mere mortal? That was unheard of.

So Killua hatched a new plan, one that would take advantage of the princess’ kindness…

———————

Dark fog fell over the palace, toxic vapor that would kill any human unfortunate enough to still be hiding within its walls.

“Has Killua returned with the princess yet?”

Illumi looked up from his work, tilting his head. His tail swayed silently as he set those dark, cold eyes on his mother. “No, mother. And from what I’m able to sense… he’s not coming back home for a while yet.”

She frowned, Kalluto standing quietly at her side. “Kalluto, go check with your older brother and see if he’s finished that resurrection spell yet.”

“Yes, mother.”

Once Kalluto left, the woman’s eyes narrowed. “We must hurry and get these matters dealt with before the other demon lords are able to make it to the surface. Those other princes… they’ll spell nothing but trouble for our-“

“Yes, mother. I understand.”

Illumi looked into his crystal ball, one that one worked on Killua. With it, he could see through the boy’s eyes… and even give him orders.

“Killua is currently following the princess, mother.”

She smiled, clapping her hands together. “Oh, that is wonderful news! Give him the command, and then I’ll have my little prince back!”

Illumi nodded, the focused on the crystal ball, peering into it.

‘Killua.’

Usually, simply saying his name was enough to have the boy tensing up… but he did nothing. Could he not… hear him?

Illumi shook his head. ‘No matter, I’ll just take control of him.’

When Illumi attempted to reach into the crystal ball, his hand was repelled by white magic, burning his fingers and palm.

“Illumi!”

His mother rushed over to see what had happened. Illumi stared blankly at his hand, sighing.

“It seems someone is interfering with my connection… until we figure out what this is…”

His mother paled, raising a hand to her mouth.

“Killua… is lost to us.”

Illumi looked through the crystal ball, his frown deepening. ‘At least I can still see through his eyes. That will be of some benefit to us… as long as Killua keeps following them, we should be able to find them eventually.’

Kalluto walked back into the room, Boeing politely. “Mother, big brother has found a resurrection spell that will work on more than ten people at once without killing the caster. Now all we have to do is find their remains.”

His mother grinned, fanning herself. “Inform your father of this discovery, and make sure he knows…”

She looked outside, smiling as the fog slowly spread down the mountain. “We have some spiders to find.”

[rlyehtaxidermist]

the mima sage theory

it's a stretch but i think it's Funnie.

she's a serial Hakurei Tormentor, as all sages are

she has some association with the shrine due to having been apparently sealed in a minor shrine on or near its grounds prior to HRtP

despite purportedly being a vengeful spirit, she seems to take a pretty strong interest in the parts of humanity that interest her, for her own reasons, and doesn't seem to be the kind of destructive seen with later vengeful spirits - a similar theme of the apparent rejection of their own nature in the immediate day to day but rebuilding it in their own way at the macroscale that all the sages do (assuming Yukaribel, anyway)

Mima's primary colours - yellow, green, and blue - are the ones that ZUN "skipped" when creating the Yakumo household

in Mima's MS route Shinki talks about not giving the human world (Gensokyo, in any translation to modern continuity) proper notice about the demon tourists. There's plenty of ways to interpret this; "Mima has some actual legitimate claim to being one of the people she should have notified" is one of them.

she doesn't have the tabard but Yukari has gone out of uniform to shenanigise before. and she'd look good in one

[embersoftheorder]

DWC - August - Day 7 - Victory

"He's been down there a long time," murmured one of the miners as the pack of workers stared at the cave with worried glances. They shouldn't be this frightened but after so many years of torment by the Coven, Hexsworn, demons, and Tides knew what else had climbed out the gloom they had every right to be. Things in the night rarely didn't bump.

Foreman Strohnev crossed is arms and shook his head at the miner's whine, a loud 'hrmph' coming out from under his thick walrus mustache. "We jus gotta give em time."

For weeks things had been going well at the silver mine. Resources plentiful, work steady, and morale high as the profits that lined their pockets. The New Lion Mining Corporation was on it's way to becoming one of the most successful business ventures of this new Drustvar. A small work town had begun to spring up nearby in hopes of perhaps beginning an actual settlement as money was pumped back into the community.

Then the wailing had begun.

Most had hoped it would be some kind of soft cooing in the depths of the mine, something that would cause the willies and startled heads to rise thinking something was over their shoulder. This voice would have none of that. As a pick had struck rock, it came sharp and clear as a meal time whistle exploding through the carved tunnels to reverberate against stone and into flesh. High above in the upper corridors of the mine, men and women had cast aside tools to clutch at their ears in shock as they looked for the source. All eyes had traveled to the elevators further into the depths, whispers of those who might remain below.

None had come back up.

A search party was sent to investigate, the supervisor a hardy dwarf who had been down in the dark for years in the old country hills of Ironforge and Dun Morgh. Troggs, trolls, and beasts had plagued his life since he was a young beardling. He could handle a wail in a cave with a few other muscles to help him out.

The New Lion Mining Co was now short 12 men and had put up a posting for a new supervisor.

They hadn't had an interview yet.

Since the initial wail and disappearances, no one had dared to go down into the mine and memorials had already been scheduled along with letters of condolences to the families of those lost. Sad letters and pocket watches did not fill bellies or pay for supplies though, and word was sent east for aid from House Waycrest. Perhaps the guard would come or maybe a wizard to blast out the mine for the growing tragedy of New Lion as it was being whispered about. Foul moods, broken hearts, and no profits were stunting the fragile growth of this new colony.

The inquisitor arrived on a Tuesday afternoon upon an old black horse with a matching silent crow astride his shoulder.

He was an older man, his hair thin and gray to match the shabby beard he wore but his eyes spoke of a steel that ran deep and true despite the feet at the corners of them. With a crooked nose, chapped lips, and a voice to make men grimace as hard as him he had come to the office of the foreman. Broken leathers, tattered tabard, and an eclectic assortment of Tides knew what clinked among his carried belongings. The Order of Embers was always in dire straights with finances, but in service of Drustvar and House Waycrest there were none better to handle this sort of thing.

This inquisitor said his name was Eldridge. Eldridge Candell.

On Wednesday morning, the inquisitor had tied off his old horse and gathered his assortment of oddities to make his way into the mouth of the mine. He hadn't said anything to anyone, only asking for extra oil and a couple of lanterns to match some rough travel rations. With an old axe strapped to his belt to match an even older bayonet, Candell had swung a pack over his back and entered the mouth of terror.

The crow had planted itself in silent watch as the inquisitor disappeared.

Wednesday came and went.

Thursday passed without a sound.

Friday the miners began to murmur.

Saturday they gathered a watch.

Sunday broke with burning red sunlight and night fell with a spring storm.

Monday came with talk of what to do with the horse.

Tuesday was gone with the wind.

A week had gone by. No work. No news. No sound. No money.

No hope.

The crow sat silent in it's vigil. Was it waiting for the inquisitor's return? Or was it guarding the mine from the miners going in?

Or from what might come out?

Strohnev rubbed his mustache as he ordered the workers to get back to work. What work they would do, he didn't know but he wasn't getting anything for his coin having them worry and fret staring at a hole in the ground. He was not looking forward to writing to the Stand about needing another inquisitor or for them to at least come pick up the remaining effects of the missing man. Another man dead for this, what the hell was he gonna tell the authorities?

The crow let out a sharp croak, that made the foreman nearly jump out of his skin as he looked back to the mine entrance.

"Tides preserve," came a whisper that Strohnev was more shocked came from him as he stared at Inquisitor Candell.

The man leaned wearily against the frame of the door, his face grim and coated in thick layer of coal dust as his grimace caused the wrinkles to crack white lines across him. His pack was missing, his tabard was black and indiscernible of the colors of the Order. His knife was in his belt and a broken lantern hung loosely from the same. The man looked like hell had given him a proper chewing and spitting like he was the bitterest chew.

The foreman strode forward as the other miners spotted him and began to call out at the return of their 'savior'. A sick wet thud stopped him in his tracks as a stained leather sack flopped into the loose gravel.

A few tentative steps forward brought him to the sack as he leaned down to gently peer into the rank leather bag. The torturous withered face of an eyeless woman stared back at him, her face pockmarked with holes like a termite ridden floorboard. Her tongue languished out of her mouth, stained with black much as the stump that might have been her neck.

Foreman Strohnev shuddered as he quickly covered the bag back up and looked up to find the inquisitor standing over him looking grim. The older man grimly reached up to his shoulder and growled as he plucked something from his neck, a soft high squeal much like a piglet. It was insanely unpleasant as he felt his hands come to his ears, holding them tight as he looked in the inquisitors hand.

Squirming in his gloved hand was the oddest bug he'd maybe seen in his life. Bulbous red eyes, black body, orange legs with crystalline orange wings to match. It buzzed and flitted a bit in his hands as it struggled to right itself in his palm, the flecks of the old man's blood still shining on it's pincer mouth as it continued to wail.

It didn't last long as Candell closed his hand around it and squeezed hard enough to shake with as much violence as it took to snuff out the insects life.

Strohnev gaped at his hand and looked up into the inquisitor's face as he finally spoke with a dry cough and hoarse growl.

"Get back to work."

@daily-writing-challenge

[puppy-wife]

SMUT FIC: Training Yard

CAST LIST:

-Syr Elise Crest, she/her, aasimar paladin

-Syr Ila Pent, she/they, tiefling paladin

The sound of steel clashing rang throughout the encampment. It was hot and muggy, and Syr Crest, Captain of the First Rank in Her Majesty’s forces, had decided it was a perfect day for full-armor drills. The Knight-Paladins under her purview moaned and groaned, but none more loudly than Syr Pent. Pent always had something to complain about, especially the heat. Crest always found this humorous, since Pent should have had the easiest time of all the Knights-expectant, given her demonic parentage. Her rose colored skin and jagged horns, though rarely ever seen due to their station, always brought a bit of color to Crest’s golden-hued fair cheeks. 

The knights sparred in groups of two and three, with Pent battling it out against two of the others. Her huge broadsword, a weapon that Crest personally felt disdainful towards, whistled through the air as the beefy tiefling swung it as deftly as Crest did her longsword. Crest was nowhere near the strongest in her unit, but she had risen through the ranks due to her expertise in close combat and a force of will not seen in most humanoids. She could talk her way through a Senate meeting, but she belonged on the battlefield. Her inhuman reaction time earned her the nickname ‘Deus Ex’ among the recruits, though none dared call her that to her face. 

She watched the scene in front of her with interest. She had taken to keeping tabs on Pent, because Pent was reckless, and in many ways pushed back against the Authority of the Code, the Oath that all of Her Majesty’s Knight-Paladins swore. She complained about the armor, about the social hierarchy, about even the colors of the tabard they wore, but by the Gods, put a sword in her hand and she could take down an entire squad of enemy soldiers. Unfortunately, that also meant she often injured her fellows in sparring. Like now. 

Pent was moving slowly clockwise in a circle, with her two opponents at roughly 10 and 2 o’clock. The three of them took methodical steps, keeping each other at just past weapon’s reach. The two smaller knights breathed hard. This match was not going well for them. One wielded a mace and shield, and the other used a longsword two-handed. It seemed that none of the combatants were ready to make the lunge into the next bout, until Pent took an uneasy step back, and her knee bent, giving out. The knight with the longsword jumped on this opportunity and drove forward with a lunge while the mace knight took a long leap and swung backhanded with his mace, right at Pent’s helmet. Crest could swear she heard Pent smile. It was a ruse. Her greatsword, which had seemed to be throwing her slightly off balance, fell to the ground over her shoulder, and landed point first. Its sharp point let it slide easily into the dirt a few inches, enough to give Pent a sort of backboard to press off of, and suddenly she was much closer to the longsword knight. Her right arm immediately wrapped around his sword arm, and with a quick jerk and a loud pop, he screamed and dropped his weapon. His arm dropped limply, obviously now dislocated, as the mace knight swung through empty air. He almost collided with Pent’s greatsword, but was able to find his footing and twist just in time to see Pent grab the longsword knight. With one hand at the top and bottom of the breastplate, she fully lifted him in the air over her head and threw him right into the mace knight’s chest. The tangled knights fell to the muddy ground in a heap and Crest blew a whistle she kept around her neck. 

“Pent! What in the hells was that?! At attention!” The tiefling turned, and even through the faceplate of her helm, Crest could see that irritating shit-eating grin. Pent turned and put her hands up in a gesture that said, Whatever could you mean, Captain? But before she could speak a single retort, the Captain repeated, “At attention!” 

Crest had spoken a Word of Command, and at its behest, Pent immediately and with mechanical accuracy snapped to attention, arms at her side, head high and heels together. She stood still even after the Command’s effects wore off, and Crest turned to the rest of the recruits. “Sirs Unger and Lionel, take these two knights to the Infirmary. See that Priestess Kiria sees them. The rest of you louts, you’ll spend the rest of the afternoon doffing and polishing your armor. Sir Hiram, report for Mess Hall duty when you are free. Dismissed. Syr Pent,” Crest turned her fiery red eyes on the tiefling, still standing at attention while the other knights began to gather their things. “You will stay here and continue to run drills with me. You obviously need to be taught the meaning of chivalrous and righteous combat.”

Pent didn’t move, but a mutter from inside her helm could be heard. Crest stomped up to her, and they stood nearly the same height, though the tiefling was ever so slightly taller. They glared at each other a moment before Crest said, “I didn’t catch that, recruit, you want to repeat that for me?” 

The tiefling audibly gritted her teeth, though the traces of a smirk could be seen through her faceplate, and she said in a gritty voice, “I said, I thought that move was pretty righteous, but I suppose you are the expert in that here.” 

Crest’s face grew beet red, and the halo that floated a few inches above her head, a gift from her divine father, seemed to burn brighter. Later, some recruits even said that there was smoke visibly rising from it, but that's mostly a rumor. She slowly curled her hands into fists, and her knuckles cracked in unison. Without looking, she growled, “The rest of you, out. Now.”

The recruits quickly scampered away from the training yard and out of sight. The training yard in the encampment was set some small distance from the main camp, mostly so that blade sparring could take place without disturbing any of the soldiers who were on late shifts and needed to rest during the daytime. This provided an excellent space for the punishment that Crest intended to break Pent with. Sometimes these new recruits were too full of themselves, and needed to be reminded who the fuck was actually in charge here. 

Once they were alone, Crest began to walk in a circle around Pent, who still obediently stood at attention. 

“Why are you here?” Crest asked. 

“To serve and protect the kingdom that is my home.” This was such a stock answer, Crest rolled her eyes. 

“No. Why are you here?” She tried again. 

“I wish to join the holy order of–” Pent was cut off as a gauntleted hand punched her hard in the back of the head. She stumbled forward, and spun around in shock as the Captain’s fist rammed into her faceplate again. That time, she felt her faceplate buckle and her skull was jostled around. She took a hasty few steps back, trying to put enough space between them, but no such luck. With whiplike movement, the aasimar stepped in close and threw two uppercuts into Pent’s plackart, the piece of armor that protects the lower abdomen. The force and direction of the hit knocked the breath out of her, and a third hit to the faceplate sent her reeling ass over teakettle. She landed hard on her back and gasped for breath. A moment later, Crest stood over her and leered at her through the eye slits in her helm. 

“I will not ask a fourth time. Why are you here, Pent? Why are you training under me, why are you becoming a Knight-Paladin, why do you EXIST?!” She was screaming now. Her frustrations with Pent had become, well, pent up, and it was far past time for a release. She reached down and gripped the tiefling by the breastplate and hoisted her to her feet. “Speak up for yourself! Why?!”

Pent stumbled to her feet, and felt tears stinging her eyes. She took a haggard breath, and screamed back, “To say a big fuck you to my mother! To say I’m not her daughter, I have no connection to her or her infernal cronies! To prove I’m worth it! Fuck You!!!” She grabbed at her helmet and threw it at a hay bale nearby. Her long braid fell out and stray hairs stuck out in every direction, but it was still the most vibrant shade of strawberry blonde. “Fuck!!” Her thin nose was bleeding, and her orange eyes burned with hatred as she glared back at Crest. The Captain strode forward again, but not in a battle stance, and removed her own helm. She revealed her own face with this, and held a haughty look as she looked down her wide nose at the tiefling. The thick ringlets of her hair were cropped close to her skull, so it gave her the look almost of someone wearing a cap. It was smashed down from wearing the helm, and made her round ears stick even further out from her head. She got right up in Pent’s face, so close that her breath tickled the skin on Pent’s face, and a light blush dusted her cheeks. 

“Then be. Fucking. Worth it. Show me your passion not just in taking down opponents, but in finessing every part of our existence. This position is just as much social as it is violent, and if you can’t act with valor in the midst of battl–” 

“Oh fuck off, that was a brilliant move!” Pent interrupted. Her cheeks were fully red, and sweat glistened on her skin. A droplet gathered on her chin and dripped deeper into her armor. 

“It was impressive, I’ll give you that, but our rank requires finesse. We fight with our weapons, not our opponents’ bodies. That move with his sword arm was dirty, and I know you know that.”

At this, Pent did look a little guilty. Some of that ferocity dropped from her face, and she groaned. “But it was so badass, you have to admit. It made me look cool as hells.” 

Crest rolled her eyes and shoved Pent hard, so they stumbled backwards towards the hay bale she had thrown her helmet at. “It might have been badass, but it was in poor form, and a Knight-Paladin should, and will, fight with honor against her foes. You want to be worthy of the title? You want to show your usefulness? Be better.” 

Pent scrunched up her face, and groaned even louder. “Okay, but… How? How do you want me to do that, huh? I was raised on the streets, I’m not socialized like you, I’m having to learn this shit as an adult, and–” She was cut off again as another fist swung at her face, but she was catching on to Crest’s timing on those. “Hey! I’m trying to fucking learn here! You want me to be better, how? How should I serve, then? Tell me!!” 

Crest pulled back her fist, and relaxed her shoulders. She looked at Pent closely, and slowly eyed her up and down. She noticed the way her armor hugged Pent’s body, and the thoughts that she had been having all week in private about this recruit wriggled their way to the forefront. Her expression changed to something that Pent couldn’t quite read, and when Crest stepped close, there was a different kind of tension in the air between them. 

“You want to learn to serve? Then learn. Serve. I will take you under my wing, and you will learn all you need from me, but I require absolute submission. You will become something akin to a squire to me. You will be by my side at all times, you will speak only when spoken to, and by the end of your tenure you will become the greatest among my knights. I only offer this to one recruit each year, and this year I choose you. You have to want this, Pent.” Her crimson eyes took on a serious darkness to them, and the wind seemed to come alive around them. “Absolute submission. You will be mine until I release you. In every way, you will serve me. Do you want this, Pent? Yes or no?”

Pent felt a series of emotions listening to this speech, of this incredibly handsome woman who honestly intimidated the shit out of them. She was terrifying, rude, and frankly a sadist the way she treated the recruits, but she carried herself with Authority, and whatever she wanted was done. She knew the answer before it escaped her lips. 

“Yes.”

A searing, blinding light filled Pent’s vision, as Crest’s hand, now glowing with the light of the sun, reached down and gripped the back of their neck, and pain wracked them. She screamed and tried to thrash away, but the Captain’s hand held her sure. There was no escaping now. She had sworn an Oath to the Captain, and it leeched into her very essence. Rivers of divine power pulsed through her flesh, and she felt the brand settle and seal into her nape. All of those previous desires she had brought up earlier were reinforced and clad in iron. Any kind of aggression towards Crest was burning away at her touch, and those rivers of power split into tributaries and seemed to fill her veins with her new base desire: submission.

“Good girl,” the Captain purred. Pent was on her knees, and the light was gone now. She blinked stars out of her eyes, and groggily looked up at the tall woman above her. There was no doubt in her mind that the Captain would take all that she could offer, and teach her to reach deeper and produce more. 

“Now I think,” Crest cooed at Pent, “it's time for your first lesson.” She moved in front of the kneeling knight, and held out a still slightly smoking gauntlet. “You’ll remove my armor piece by piece, admiring every part of me. And if you’re good,” Pent shivered at this, and her lips parted ever so slightly in a moan. “I’ll do the same to you.” 

Pent nodded eagerly, and moved to the gauntlet. She reached up and began loosening the straps that held it in place. Disconnected it from the vambrace, and slid it off of Crest’s limb. As her hand came free, The Captain caressed Pent’s jaw, and Pent was surprised to find that she had the smoothest hands she had ever felt. The feeling of the skin to skin contact felt like throwing fuel on a fire, and she felt an intense heat build within her. She leaned into Crest’s touch, and with only some slight trepidation, pressed her lips to her wrist. She kissed Crest’s wrist long and slow, and reveled in the music that Crest’s heartbeat made. It was like hearing the drums of war on that last plain before the battle began. It was exhilarating. 

Her kisses continued to trail into the Captain’s palm, up to her knuckles, and down her fingers. She kissed the tips of this damned haloed woman’s fingers, and watched with pleasure as Crest’s eyes rolled in pleasure and she bit her lip. Feeling a bit brazen, Pent began to suckle on Crest’s index finger. Just to the first tiny knuckle, and then slightly deeper to the second. She slid her elongated devilish tongue around the digit, and began to stroke it with her mouth as if it were a cock. A light moan rumbled out of the knight standing before her, and Pent knew she would love this job. 

It wasn’t long before Crest slid a second finger inside Pent’s mouth, and began to slowly push in and out of her mouth. Pent’s forked tongue danced around and between Crest’s fingers, and soon she began to push her fingers deeper and deeper in, eventually reaching that last knuckle and sucking hard. Crest’s other gauntleted hand suddenly and roughly grabbed one of the jagged horns growing from Pent’s upper temple, and pulled her head back while pushing her jaw down with her fingers, and Pent found herself unable to do aught but drool on her new Mistress’s fingers. 

“Ah ah ah, aren’t you forgetting something? You have a job to do here, pet.” Pent looked up and made eye contact with Crest, and nodded. Her eyes were starting to get heavy with submission, and she did her best to stay focused after that. She moved to the other hand and after only slightly struggling with one of the buckles, got it unlatched and removed. Some light praise from Crest brought that blush back to her cheeks, and Pent continued on up the forearm. After the gauntlet, the couter was the next to be removed, from the elbow. This allowed the forearm covering, the vambrace, to come off next. Crest’s golden skin glinted with sweat under the late afternoon sun. Pent continued to kiss her arms, surprised at how slim but powerful these arms were. 

She repeated these steps for the other arm. From there, Pent had to move from fully on her knees to simply kneeling. She knew she would not be allowed to stand, at least not yet. From this position she could reach the pauldron, but unlatching the pauldron from this position seemed difficult at best. She thought about just standing up, but something in her mind kept her down. She cleared her throat, and looked up at her commanding officer. 

“Ma’am, I cannot reach from here. Permission to stand so I may continue?” She accentuated the pauses in her speech with kisses on Crest’s forearm. She put on her sweetest most innocent look, and had half a mind to rebel when she regained her footing, but that force on her will cowed her again, and she dismissed the thought. 

“Permission granted, soldier.” It was Crest’s turn to grin devilishly, and as she answered she hooked a finger under Pent’s chin and forced her to make eye contact. “Up, girl.” A sound like a muffled moan made its way out of Pent as her eyes went slightly unfocused, and then back into clarity as she got to her feet. Crest kept her  standing with that finger under the chin, and said simply, “Stay.” and Pent stood in place. Crest began to undo Pent’s armor now, and an embarrassed blush drew across Pent’s cheeks. Crest went through the same motions that Pent had, but with more assurance and slightly less lovingly. When her forearms were bare, Crest grabbed one of those thick muscled limbs and gave a couple of kisses in the hand and on the wrist, but moved to the meaty part of the forearm, and started biting and sucking on the skin. A full moan came out of Pent now, and her knees buckled. 

Crest quickly pulled back and growled, “I said, Stay.” Another Word of Command rippled through Pent’s psyche, and she felt her body lock up. A dark red mark was where Crest’s mouth had been, and Pent knew in that moment that she would be leaving here today covered in marks showing her to belong to the Captain. Crest kept her standing still for a few minutes as she made her marks, eliciting near constant yelps and moans from her new toy. When she seemed to be satisfied, she dropped Pent’s arms, and turned around. “You may continue your task now, soldier.” 

Pent’s mind was a jumbled mess of desire, a need to obey, and a lot of other much fuzzier thoughts that she couldn’t quite grasp the full context of. It took all of her willpower to focus on the Captain’s pauldrons and begin to remove them. This proved to be more difficult than she thought, though, because the closer she got to removing the pauldrons, the stronger the scent coming off of Crest became. It had been an exceptionally hot afternoon, and her natural musk was in full bloom. At one point, she fumbled a latch so badly that she simply dropped to her knees and zoned out for a moment. 

Crest turned to her recruit, and knelt in front of her. “You understand the importance of submission now, yes? When you submit, the greatest power becomes available to you. Devotion. That's what you need to be a great paladin, Pent. Devote yourself to me.” Pent nodded and numbly sat while Crest instead worked on Pent’s pauldrons, and within moments had removed both pauldrons and both of the rerebraces covering her biceps. Pent was well-muscled, and her biceps revealed a depth of power that was currently inaccessible to the tiefling. The Captain stood her to her feet once more, and though she swayed slightly, she soon regained her balance. Crest stood incredibly close to Pent now, their armors clinking together ever so slightly. She raised a hand to caress Pent, and moved to grip their hair. She pulled their head back and took a deep breath through her nostrils. The scent coming off of Pent was unlike any that the Captain had ever smelled before. Tieflings carried a natural body odor that was something akin to burnt spices, and Crest had never been this close to breathe it in this deeply. It was intoxicating, and she adored it. She felt a heat grow in her loins, and her lower body armor became slightly more tense than it was previously. 

After a moment, Pent came to a little better, and blinked at Crest a few times to indicate she was ready to continue. Crest turned around, and this time Pent unbuckled the pauldrons and removed the rerebraces without issue, partially because she had elected to hold her breath so as not to lose track of her goal yet again. Once these were removed, she took a moment to really appreciate the Captain’s biceps. They were toned and muscular, but not overly so. Her arms were much thinner than Pent’s large biceps, but they showed obvious grace and an ability to move at such speeds that they looked to belong to an acrobat more than a knight. 

Both of their bevors, the piece that protected each of their necks, came off next. Since removing their gauntlets, removing these pieces took significantly less time, and it helped that there now seemed to be a sense of urgency, of need building in both of them. They were both coated in sweat, and the late afternoon sun kept them both hot and bothered. The cuirass, plackart, and fauld for both of them came off hastily, and soon they were each standing in the training yard in the sunlight, the heat bearing down on their half-armored forms. Beneath their armor, they each wore a mail skirt and tight leathers beneath that. With a look that dripped sweat down their faces, they both agreed to move to a shadier area. Thankfully, there were plenty of trees surrounding the yard to provide some cover. 

Crest propped herself against the trunk of a tree, and gestured with a look at her lower half. “It's not going to remove itself, soldier. Get to it.” Pent dropped to her knees in front of her mistress, and worked at the buckles of the sabatons that covered each of her feet. That body odor was stronger as she removed the damp boots from the Captain. She wriggled her toes once they were free, and a chuckle resounded in Crest’s chest. Pent was tempted to put those temptations in her mouth then and then, but obediently moved to the greaves next. She pulled off the armor covering the captain’s shins, and then followed through to the poelyns on her knees, and finally the cuisses that protected her thighs. 

Pent pulled off Crest’s stockings, and couldn’t help herself. She brought it to her face, and pulled in hard through her nose. The smell was heavenly, almost literally. It stirred some kind of dark creature deep in her psyche, and when she looked back at Crest, she saw that same creature in her eyes. She started to lunge forward, to follow that impulse to ram her tongue down this bitch’s throat, but a golden hand caught her and pushed her onto her back. Crest moved to kneel in such a way that put her knee in Pent’s stomach, but that left her foot pushing up under Pent’s chin. The Captain held her there, pinned, but only by willpower, while she unlatched the pieces of armor that remained on Pent. Pent meanwhile, was being driven mad by the scent. It was something like freshly baked bread, and it made her feel at home. Gods, she wanted to fuck this woman so bad it made her look stupid. 

When finally all of the armor pieces were removed, they were both panting and drenched in sweat. Crest pulled Pent up and then roughly shoved her against the tree. There was a moment, where Crest looked longingly at Pent’s full, pouty lips, and a hunger filled her expression. She held strong, though, and instead grabbed at the chainmail skirt, and hoisted it over Pent’s head with only a little help from the tiefling. Now Crest could get a really good look at the young knight. Pent was more muscle than body fat, and it created this burgeoning look of wide and firm but not particularly large breasts. Their leather under-armor seemed to barely fit them, as if they had gained 30 pounds of muscle since it was issued to them. 

“We’ll have to get this replaced,” Crest mumbled as she kept pressure on Pent against the tree trunk. She leaned in and she let her lips glide across her wet skin. She took small bites of Pent’s collarbones, and it made her knees buckled again. This time she had the tree to lean back on though. Crest started sucking and leaving those marks again, and it was all Pent could do to keep herself from begging this woman to fuck her. Crest finally stepped back and allowed her own chainmail to be removed, and Pent was a little shocked at the busty woman hidden under the armor. Crest had full hips and breasts, and a slightly slimmer waist. She wore her armor tight, and she was absolutely dripping with sweat. A new smell began to emanate from Pent, and she realized with embarrassed horror that she was leaking she was so turned on. The smell was like iron smelting, as if they were in the middle of the forge. When it hit Crest, Pent was worried it might drive her away, or make her change her mind, but when she sniffed, Pent watched as Crest’s pupils went wide like a cat’s. Her pupils dilated so far, in fact, that her eyes took on an otherworldly look. Her halo also began vibrating slightly, and it was obvious that she not only quite enjoyed the scent, but was driven mad with lust over it. 

Crest took a slow step forward and gingerly reached out to untie the under-armor on Pent. The next few moments as they peeled the sweat soaked leathers off of each other that they were able to fully appreciate the other’s body. Pent was mostly muscle and scars. She had not had an easy life before or after joining the Order, but she was strong, and it showed. Crest, meanwhile, was perfect in every aspect. There were no scars, no tattoos, not even a single blemish on her body. She was Divinely Created, and thus was Divinity Humanized. They were both femininely shaped, but the biggest difference was their genitalia. Unlike Pent who had a sopping wet cunt, Crest had a cock that was erect and shone with a brilliance like sun on a clear pool. The two stepped cautiously closer to each other, a strange sort of lull in the otherwise incredibly heated afternoon. 

Crest spoke first. 

“If you wish to stop, if you don’t wish to continue this, I can retract my brand, and we do not have to continue. I’m giving you this one chance, soldier. You can stay, now, or you can leave, and we will not speak of it again. This is your out, if you want it.” 

Pent barked out a laugh and shook her head. “Are you kidding me, Captain? I’m covered in my own juices and we haven’t even fucked yet. Of course I will stay. I want to serve, Crest. I want to be better. Do better. I want to be worth all the trouble.” A shadow of insecurity washed over her face. “I want to stay and learn, train, and become everything you mold me to be. I devote myself to you, Syr Elise Crest. I’m yours.” 

At that, Crest threw herself into Pent’s arms, and for the first and certainly not the last time, they locked their lips in a battle of passion.

As the last of the sun’s rays disappeared over the horizon, the two knights found themselves tangled in each other. They both finished rather quickly, but they found that this was only the beginning. They had all ‘knight’ ahead of them.

[dujour13]

WOOHOO Owlcatober begins! It’s my Tumblr birthday! 🎉 I signed up on October 1st 2022 just so I could send a cheeky ask out of nowhere to @starlightcleric for some Owlcatober prompts, and she very graciously put some together overnight even though she wasn’t planning on it. Thank you so so much Luna ❤️

I will forever be grateful for stumbling on this community. You people are the best 🥰

This time I’m not even going to try to hit the prompts in order. Instead I wrote three mini-series, so I’ll keep them in their own logical order regardless of prompt number.

The first series is titled “The Prodigal Tiefling” and it’s in four parts, starting with

26. Fear

(cw: canon-typical violence, swooping)

Woljif Jefto never had been blessed with nice dreams much, at night anyway, but this crusade business put all kinds of addled visions in his sleeping mind.

Facing down Minagho and her demons with no pants on. Babaus in Eagle Watch tabards grinning as they locked him up and swallowed the key. Kerismei pursuing him through the streets of a flaming city and his legs like jelly. The Prelate lighting him on fire and tossing him into a crevasse that went all the way down to the Abyss. Falling endlessly through a purple void.

The Knight-Commander’s musical hands caressing his neck.

It was one of those rare nice ones this time, sadly, that was interrupted by disaster.

A full-throated scream, not two meters outside his tent. A crash.

He jerked upright so fast stars sparked behind his eyes.

Another more distant crash. An explosion. Shouting. Screaming. Inhuman shrieks.

Lucky he was smart enough to sleep in his trousers, just in case opportunity knocked. Or this happened, whatever it was. He groped about for his tunic and belt with frantic hands.

An orange glow through one side of the tent shed enough light for him to get his belt and boots on, but orange glows weren’t generally a good sign when accompanied by the sounds of explosions and panic on all sides, not to mention the acrid, oily smell of something burning he reckoned was not a nice, comfy campfire. A slithery thump made him start and stare around, but it was just his agitated tail slapping against the tent flap.

Mostly dressed, he crawled out of the tent on his hands and knees, and stayed low among the crates stacked between his tent and the quartermaster’s. People were running, and not purposefully in the same direction. Just running.

A gnome crusader careened past, not looking where she was going but at the sky instead for some reason, which drew his own eyes up to the starless Worldwound night—just in time to spy a horrible slate-black demonic shape glide past, turn and dive somewhere beyond the next tent.

Wide-eyed he peered over the crates.

Sure enough, a portion of the Eagle Watch camp was on fire. There were bodies on the ground. The clashing of swords just out of view.

Through a gap in the crates Woljif saw that rookie Andoren priest Sosiel run to the side of a downed crusader and kneel, healing light flooding from his hands.

Aright. There’s been an ambush, but it’s under control. The healers are on it.

Woljif breathed a sigh of relief. He’d hunker down here until Sosiel and his lot could get things sorted, and then maybe he’d sneak out and stab something if anything still needed stabbing.

He watched the wounded crusader cough and roll to one side. Sosiel said something to her. She nodded. Froze suddenly. Looked over the priest’s shoulder and threw her hands over her face. Screamed.

Before he could blink Woljif watched one of those flying whatevers—bat-winged monsters with dangling claws and leering teeth—dive out of the fiery darkness and seize Sosiel in its talons and take to the sky again, beating wings fanning the flames, the priest pounding his fists in vain against its flank.

shit shit shit

Huddling with both hands over his head probably wasn’t going to help.

think think think

The Knight-Commander. There would be help at the command tent. The chief would know what to do. He would smile and say “It’ll be fine,” and somehow it would be.

The problem was making it to the command tent without getting swiped up by one of those—what were they, anyway? Like the grotesque gargoyles that perched on the cornices of the temple of Iomedae back in Kenabres.

He tried to gauge the distance to the command tent and pick out some likely cover along the way, but he’d have to avoid swooping demons, panicked crusaders barreling about blindly, and patches of fire that had begun exploding at random all about the crusade camp.

He made it to the first cover position, the blacksmith’s lean-to behind Wilcer’s tent. From here he could spy the Knight-Commander’s pavilion. Between here and there, however, lay fallen crusaders, flaming timber and precious little cover.

A series of bowstring twangs told him the crusaders were putting up some resistance, but the arrows clattered uselessly to the ground, and it seemed now like more and more of the winged demons crisscrossed the sky overhead.

Worse, across the camp in the light of the flaming tents a fierce battle was unfolding between one of the creatures and a half-dozen crusaders, the crusaders’ swords clanging against its skin as if it were made of stone. They were losing. In a bloody way. He cringed.

“I can promise you you’ll regret this!” suddenly shrieked a man’s voice from overhead. “You pestilent, senseless, drooling, shit-eating insect. Release me this instant!”

The Count. Whew, he could almost hold his own against Gran. Woljif cringed again as his howling receded into the night sky.

It made his horns itch to think of talons locking around them and dragging him up kicking into the air after the Count. He shuddered all over, all the way down to the tip of his tail.

Anything but that.

Get to the chief.

Cautiously, eyes to the sky and head scrunched down between his shoulders as if that would somehow protect it, Woljif took a tentative couple of steps out of the blacksmith’s shed and prepared to sprint—

—when a whistling, roaring clamor overhead grew in volume with ominous speed, and he ducked back just in time to avoid a fully armored paladin hurtling out of the sky and landing with an extremely painful crunch on the ground at Woljif’s feet, inches from what would have been an extremely painful crunch atop Woljif’s head.

shit shit shit

He was still staring in horror when at last the chief appeared. Through the smoke and flame Woljif could see his silhouette just across the assembly yard, Lann and a handful of crusaders at his side.

Woljif scanned the sky and tried to breathe. Make a break for the chief. It’ll be fine.

He was just getting ready to step over the dead paladin, squeezing his eyes shut so that the image of the man’s face wouldn’t be burned into his memory forever, when a gust of hot wind raised a whirlwind of dust and flame in the middle of the assembly yard before him, and right between him and the chief landed one of the flying demons. A big one.

Its winged, stone-gray back was turned to Woljif as it faced off against the chief.

The next moment haunted him often, later. It was a coin toss. Adrenaline shot fire into his legs as his muscles coiled to sneak up and stab the thing in the back, or zap it, or better—both.

An arrow from Lann skittered off the thing’s stony hide. Woljif hesitated. His dagger hand felt clammy on the hilt. He blinked sweat from his eyes.

Of course, at the Gray Garrison he never thought they could have won against Minagho either, but that time some kind of divine power had come out of nowhere to give them the victory.

We got this. Right?

But then—a chill against his breastbone, a whisper, a shadow deep in the back of his mind: Have your horns grown into your brain? You absolute idiot. Attacking that thing would be suicide.

Run!

Run! Survive! You don’t want to be there when the chief’s luck dries up.

His breath hitched. The point of his dagger danced as his hand shook. A shame to think he’d have to give up all those nice dreams, the ones about a partner in crime. Music. Laughter.

But—

You think you’ll have nice dreams when you’re dead?

But the chief—

The chief doesn’t give a rat’s ass for a scrawny, two-bit demonspawn like you, and you know it.

He shrank back into the shadow of the smithy. Flames reflected in his yellow eyes, but he felt cold.

That’s right. You’re on your own.

Must have been the smoke inhalation that made his chest ache.

Think.

Fight? Yeah, right.

Hide? Nope. Not with the explosions. The quatermaster’s tent could easily be next, and he’d almost rather be torn to shreds than burned to death if it came down to it.

Run it was.

No time for regrets. Let it never be said Woljif Jefto was not a survivor.

In a crouch he scampered back past his tent and huddled next to it, planning his escape route, his pounding heart about to jump out of his mouth.

The stables. Horses had no business making terrifying noises like that, but at least nothing that direction seemed to be on fire. Yet. He only had to cross some ground to get there, but luckily it was dark enough he reckoned he could make it without being seen. Then through the stables and over the palisade and along the ditch for cover until he could round the camp on the river side and slink among the brush and rocks until he was far enough away to abscond like the wind.

In the midst of planning Woljif became aware of a voice, distant and mostly drowned out by the horses and the screaming: the chief’s voice, rallying the troops. It was a brave voice, even though it really didn’t look to Woljif like there was anything to be brave or hopeful about at this point, when half the crusade was on fire and the other half fighting for their lives against flying demons and losing.

For the briefest of moments he pictured the chief, probably as terrified as he was, putting on a brave face and desperately trying to regain control of the situation, and for some reason the mental image seemed to grab his heart and give it a nasty pinch.

Sorry chief.

I am not gonna die here.

Woljif scanned the sky, kissed the Moon of the Abyss, and sprinted.

also on AO3

[heaven-said]

Oh... Oh he's *definitely* staring. He'd meant to catch Gabe with his guard down, but not like this. How many times these two have been... exposed to each other, and still how the sight of them like this makes him feel... is.. is it hot in here? (also sending for that fanart cuz Hot Damn Gabe.)

✞ Cakebriel Gabriel was not adverse to working with nothing on but his tabard cloth, but... he does not like to do it around anyone capable of... impure thoughts about his divine form. So that should tell you how much Gabriel was... not expecting to see James right now.

They stare near him long enough that his senses vividly pick up that they are not just nearby but directly behind him, causing him to slowly... wonder what they're looking at. And then become vividly aware that they're looking at him. And all the innocence of his form turns to heat... He suddenly turns on his heels, hiding both his... backside but also the way his wings were starting to turn pink at the root of his back.

" I think you're slowing down, demon... " He huffs. " You have missed your opportunity for an ambush. "

[goodbyenorthernlights]

and also the one i did for rezo

Visual: Rezo is a 6’3” tall, fair-skinned, human man with purple hair (anime) that sticks out at the sides like a pair of bird’s wings. (Again, anime.) His build is fairly nondescript, although he’s in better shape than you’d expect a scholarly type to be- he can run up a long flight of stairs and not get winded, for instance.

His eyes are permanently shut, making it difficult to discern their shape and impossible to tell the color. If you somehow do get them open without unleashing the Dark Lord Ruby Eye Shabranigdu in the process, you will find that Rezo’s eyes are an unassuming brown, with an upward slant to the shape.

Fashion: Rezo is usually wearing eye-catching red robes, a set of extremely dramatic blue-green shoulderpads, a tabard with a diamond insignia on it, and of course, an enormous red cape that covers his entire body below the shoulderpads if he stands still with his arms down. The cape is very good at swooshing and billowing, and the entire ensemble obscures his figure such that he resembles an imposing red rectangle.

He is also usually carrying around a long staff, slightly taller than he is. It’s topped off with a loop with four rings attached, that chime together when he moves around, and at the very tip is a red gem. (Like a cherry!) It’s essentially a fancy khakkhara staff. The staff serves as a way of channeling and directing magic and as well as being a mobility aid, and he can summon or banish it at will. Magic!

Demeanor: Rezo’s default expression is a smile, small, serene, and seraphic, but with a definite aloof edge to it. Accordingly, in most situations he is formal and kind without necessarily being friendly, usually sticking to whatever business is at hand.

That said, he enjoys teasing people and yanking their chains around, especially when he’s pissed at them, but he usually keeps that under a veneer of Great Sagely Dignity.

His blindness affects the way he moves and interacts with the world, although subtly enough that unobservant characters may miss it- he moves carefully, yet confidently, and pays close attention to sounds. And again, his eyes are always shut.

Aural: Rezo has a deep voice that is usually calm and pleasant, with a lofty edge to it. His cadence is reminiscent of a university lecturer, albeit one who sometimes slips silly jokes into his lectures.

Unless, of course, he’s having a meltdown, in which case there’s probably hoarse screaming involved.

Olfactory: Beyond his natural, personal scent, you may catch a few odd notes such as: Bitter, medicinal herbs; the slightly musty scent of old wood; old books; soap and/or sharp chemical solvent smells.

Mental Information: In D&D terms Rezo would have both a high INT and high WIS score, with his INT being higher. He has a good memory, the ability to make quick mental connections, curiosity about the world around him, and the determination necessary to stick with something until he understands it. He has also lived a long life, mostly dedicated to researching magic and medicine, and from that has gained a very in depth knowledge base.

Unfortunately, he struggles with serious mental health issues of some kind (it is hard to properly diagnose someone when one of their problems is “has a literal demon in them”) which can seriously impair his judgment and pretty much always affects his mood for the worse. He’s very prone to dissociation as a coping mechanism.

He's a messy, messy bitch.

Magical Information: Rezo specializes in white magic, but also can use the broader shamanistic magics and dark magic. The general rule of thumb I go by is that he can’t use holy magic or anything that would call upon the Lord of Nightmares, but any other kind of magic in the Slayers canon is fair game.

He has a considerable amount of magical power and normally can go for days of nonstop casting without expending his capacity. However, a great deal of his power comes from being the vessel for a fragment of Ruby Eye Shabranigdu, a kind of ancient dark god from his world. Without Shabranigdu, Rezo would still be a force to be reckoned with, but not outside of human levels.

The seal on Shabranigdu is very strong, making it normally impossible to detect the dark lord’s presence within Rezo. But crosscanon RP does mean potentially encountering powers that fall outside the rules of Rezo’s setting, so in other words: If you think that your character might be able to detect Shabranigdu/otherwise mess with Rezo and Shabranigdu, feel free to chat with me about it and we can work something out!

Just note that Shabranigdu has a corruptive effect on people who get close to him and can be viscerally unpleasant for any psychic types.

[guiltless-studios]

How it started vs How it’s going - Masc-Leaning Costumes

The journey into cosplaying male characters definitely helped me feel more at home in my own body. Even well before I had the language to describe the gender euphoria it brings me. I’ve been Non-Binary for several years now and I am accepting that I lean more into Genderfluid territory as I adore the chances I get to look at least a little more manly. Obviously I had to start somewhere, and in the early 2000s, Squall/Leon from Kingdom Hearts was my first foray into cosplaying male characters, where I had exclusively only done female until that point.  Cut 20 years later and I am thoroughly enjoying what I have managed to do, and I hope to up my masc game going forward. ... And to the folks from my past who have made transphobic comments in my direction: Stay salty. And I hope someone bigger than me gets you cancelled for your bigotry. :)

[Image ALT:

1) Guiltless dressed as and posing like Leon from Kingdom Hearts, but without a wig in the character’s hairstyle. Comes off more feminine in overall look and shoulder length hair style.

2) Guiltless dressed as Ban Mido from The GetBackers. Pose is anime-like but more feminine.

3) Guiltless dressed as Renon from Castlevania 64, notable effort put into drawn facial hair and a more masculine pose.

4) Guiltless dressed as their World of Warcraft character, a Blood Elf Male Hunter. Character is wearing the Windrunner’s Pursuit armor set and the Sunreaver Tabard.

5) Guiltless dressed as a casual version of their larp character, wearing a ‘World’s Okayest Ranger’ shirt. Emphasis was made on the drawn facial hair and the character’s face paint that is based from the Monster Hunter game series.

6) Guiltless dressed as Crowley from Good Omens, emphasis on the masculine hair, face contouring and demon-like contact lenses.]

[glowing-blue-feathermage]

'I'm no use to you, injured' 'You're even less use if you're dead'

For your Amell and Morrigan! And this is for dadrunkwriting. Thank you!

Thank you!! I took a little liberty with the wording of the prompt. ;)

Some blood-mage spirit (demon) healer Solona Amell & Morrigan for @dadrunkwriting !

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Acrid smoke crawled down Solona’s throat and burned her lungs. The fire engulfing the city was a violent cacophony of spitting, roaring flames and hissing wood that almost drowned out the screams of Denerim’s doomed people. 

She pressed her forearm over her face, eyes stinging and wet as she ran. She was dragging one leg, refusing to look at the wound on her thigh, not wanting to know how much blood there was. She didn’t have time to bleed.

Morrigan had disappeared inside the building at the end of the alley, chasing a fleeing emissary who had to go down, but then the door frame had collapsed. With it, the front of the building tumbled to the ground, embers blasted into the air and becoming another dozen red-gold falling stars. She could smell her own burning hair and the singed cotton of her tabard. 

Solona swallowed her panic down a singed throat. The darkspawn, the fire, the archdemon—none it mattered as much as getting Morrigan out of that building alive. She made it to the crumbled facade, wrenched to a halt and lifted her hands. She’d lost her staff, yanked out of her hands by an ogre and thrown into a horde of darkspawn where it had been buried by the horrid tide. 

The collapsed timber glowed like the magma that lit the Deep Roads, split with fissures. It shuddered, spitting sparks as Solona grasped for her spell and then it heaved upward, hovering in the air. She threw her arms wide and hurled the flaming beams in both directions, leaving the face of the building a gaping maw, belching smoke.

Morrigan was on the floor, flames licking at her, the emissary dead and half beneath her. 

Solona forced her way through and over the scattered furniture, tripping on the back of an overturned chair and hitting her knees beside her friend. 

“Morrigan,” she rasped, grasping her arm and rolling her. There was a hideous welt across her forehead that had already started to purple. “You have to get up. We have to go.”

For one awful, agonizing moment, Morrigan didn’t respond. Then her eyes shifted behind closed lids and they cracked open. There was no clarity in them until Solona pressed a palm to her head. Her eyes cleared then, narrowed, and she batted Solona’s hand away.

“Go,” she croaked. “Leave me. I am no use to you injured.” 

“I will be no use to anyone if I have to watch you die on this floor,” Solona snapped. She reached for the Fade, for Rage, and the demon responded with a dark eagerness. 

Healing energy spilled from Solona’s fingers like red mist, seeping into her friend, pushing back the concussion and the cracked wrist and the burns. When it was finished, Solona felt the cold, empty hollow in her core of mana depletion. 

“You fool girl,” Morrigan hissed as Solona pulled her to her feet. “You have a world to save and yet you are wasting your mana on me.”

Beyond the burning building, the boom and echo of an ogre’s footsteps drew closer.

Red mist again gathered around her, tendrils of the blood seeping down her thigh and into her boot now pulled from the wound to do her bidding. “You know I don't need mana,” she said, “Now come on.”

[toadeyes-miqote]

FFxiv Write 2023 Master list

Had not done continuous chapters in years. Took on this challenge to use some of the notes, partially done fics, scene descriptions in my notebooks. Had to go short story and summary/narrative (?) format due to lack of of a coherent chapter transition point and there being other little scenes in between those as well -_-'

If anything I cleared out a good chunk of my notes. Though some like Mor Dhona Days(ARR, EW 6.0 and 6.1) and Road to recovery stuff(EW between 6.0 and 6.1) still have bits and pieces coming out of the woodwork -_-'

Prompt #1: Envoy - An unused piece of Post EW timeline that involves traveling through Orthard with Hylnyan, Thancred, G'raha and Estinien Prompt #2: Bark - Post EW timeline, A parody dealing with Tomestone farming for mounts and a mount story Prompt #3: Extra Credit - Feathers. Post EW timeline but HW Vanu tribal quest related Prompt #4: Off the Hook - Taking Inventory 2 got transcribed. Hylnyan and Thancred's relationship Prompt #5: Barbarous - Timeline in mid EW, someone remembers Hylnyan all the way from end ARR as one of eight

Prompt #6: Ring - ShB 5.3 onwards Hylnyan from the POV of a dungeon support NPC's POV. Consider to be after Shed prompt Prompt #7: Noisome - EW dungeon run thing and a Miqo'te hunter Prompt #8: Shed - ShB post 5.3. My take on his mindset I guess Prompt #9: Fair - Mid HW between Awakening in Ul'dah and Into the Aery. short story for a thing that happened in Gpose Prompt #10: Extra Credit - Envoy. Post ARR, Taking Inventory 4 got transcribed. A very short window of happiness for Thancred. A Mor Dhona days short

Prompt #11: Once Bitten, Twice Shy - The start of EW end 6.0 Dreamless Sleep series. No she's not as okay as you think she is, that last solo duty took much out of her. Prompt #12: Dowdy - ShB clearly someone expected things to be fanicer with Hylnyan's sense of fashion. What?! Do you not know how puny she is compared to her enemies? Prompt #13: Check - Pre 6.5 EW short. Being delivery Miqo'te, feat Ryne Prompt #14: Clear - Mid EW, Hylnyan's decoy team and the fellow collaborators who knew since mid-late HW Prompt #15: Portentous - Post ARR Thancred and Cid short that finally got transcribed. A Mor Dhona days short

Prompt #16: Jerk - EW end 6.0 that is after Dreamless Sleep series, the Mor Dhona part of Road to reovery. Something ridculous about Housing and the people looking out for Hylnyan since the Bloody Banquet. A Mor Dhona days short. My personal fave. the notes were tame, this one came out silly. The noodle incident is what it is. Prompt #17: Resting this day Prompt #18: A Fish Out of Water - ARR Pray return to NG+ Prompt #19: Weal - EW end 6.0 Dreamless Sleep series, think about her companions who had to closed in around her, some of them been through this once in ShB Prompt #20: Hamper -EW end 6.0 Dreamless Sleep series, Aetherial Sea Team was suppose to get a short story to replace an earlier one that was scraped

Prompt #21: Grave - EW end 6.0 Dreamless Sleep series Prompt #22: Fulsome - ShB musing, Light corruption mindset. That which could have been. Prompt #23: Suit - Post EW timeline but SB Anata tribal quest related Prompt #24: Resting this day Prompt #25: Call it a Day - Post EW Pandemonium timeline, A parody dealing with Tomestone farming. Pandemonium boss spoiler

Prompt #26: Last - 6.4 timeline picking up ShB 5.5 stuff. Literally leveling WHM to clear the quest chain before touching 6.5 MSQ. Prompt #27: Sole - FFXIV short musing about Hylnyan Prompt #28: Blunt - EW end 6.0 Dreamless Sleep series news about the injured Hylnyan travels Prompt #29: Contravention - EW spoiler guest in Binding coil with special guest stars Gudako and Co from FGO and a certain missing Catdude who's story never got told because I'm not ready to play through the time line that he got thrown into. Prompt #30: Amity - EW end 6.0 Closing off the Dreamless Sleep series

[iironwreath]

Repair [Cadiana]

[a rewrite of an old thing—took me a while to get to but I wanted to rewrite cady's older pieces into exandria like I did for union. this takes place during the year the party is in the feywild. and now it's longer than it was before oops]

Cadiana darkened the terrace of the house. It should have been easy—raise a fist, knock. They had done it before without hesitation, but it was if she were stone again, her limbs heavy and locked in place.

It was by both miracle and effort they found the house at all. Emon had always been a large city, being the first stretch of land to greet newcomers from Vasselheim, but it must have at least tripled in size in the last three centuries. Cadiana had missed so much time that Gwessar had become Tal’Dorei. 

She curled her fingers into her palms, shoulders creeping upwards. Even a subtle shift made noise, tiny clicks of overlapping plates like a second set of joints. 

They had been to their mother’s grave, but none of the surrounding plots belonged to their father. There were too many ifs: he could have moved anywhere from several months to two hundred years ago. He could have been executed and then burned and sacrificed to Neminar’s demonic legion. Cady wanted to complete the puzzle of where he'd gone—potentially sniffing out the start of a trail, then seeing if it ended in another grave or a living relative. Why hesitate, when she knew what she wanted? 

Passer-bys were unbothered by the armour-clad half-orc looming on a doorstep, too caught up in their own chatter or getting from one place to the next. Elspeth and Hadrean waited across the street, Elspeth attentive on Cady while Hadrean surveyed everyone else.

Cady inhaled, raised an arm, and pounded on the door.

Inside came a call, footfalls, then the door swung inward to reveal an elven woman. Her hair was ginger and cropped close to her skull and there were a sprinkle of freckles beneath a pair of pewter-blue eyes. They were similar to her father’s—to hers. 

Cadiana was a few inches taller and could see into the front hall. A staircase climbed the left wall. Furniture had been replaced and rearranged, and the scent wasn’t one she remembered. A dwarven woman, blonde, stood with her hands on her hips in an archway on the right wall, across from the stairwell. She wore a pair of half-moon spectacles that made her look like she could examine Cady for faults.

“Can I help you?” the elven woman asked with a perfunctory smile. Her accent was from Syngorn. The trophy dagger at Cady’s hip weighed heavy. 

Cady cleared her throat. “Cadiana Jacqueline Steelsong. I’m a paladin of Erathis.”

The woman’s eyes cut up and down her tabard. “I can see that.”

“I’m not here on any official business.”

“What brings you here, then, Cadiana of Erathis?”

There was no eloquent way to phrase it. “I used to live here.”

The elf shared a glance with the woman over her shoulder. “Did you?”

“I did. I was wondering when you purchased the house, if you did.”

The dwarf sidled up beside the elf, arms shifting to cross her bust. “Must’ve been about nine years ago now? Why, you lookin’ to buy it back? We’re not lookin’ to sell.”

Her accent was from Kraghammer. It sent a shiver of memory through Cady—of years spent warring beside them. She closed it behind her teeth, trying not to grind them.

“No,” Cady said. “I was wondering if you bought it from an elven man. Ginger hair, about this tall.” She measured outwards from her mouth with a flat hand.

They looked at each other quizzically. “No?”

Cady massaged their temples with one hand. “Damn it.”

“We might be able to help if you gave us more,” the elven woman said, now with a sprig of amusement. “You’re not lost, are you?”

Frustration pricked at the back of her neck and her posture snapped taut. The women, to their credit, didn’t flinch. “I’m not lost. I’m looking for my father.”

“What was his name?”

“Rhys’Erowyn.”

The elf scratched at her cheek, looking apologetic. “It doesn’t ring a bell. Sorry.”

“Taverns’ll be the next best place to ask,” the dwarf added. “Keep fishing with that name and eventually you’ll get a bite, I’m sure.”

Cady’s mouth went firm. “Thank you.”

The couple nodded and eased the door shut. Cadiana backed off the terrace. She trailed the seams of the house with her eyes—the door’s casing, the windows, then past it to the shingles of the roof and the chimney pointing into the dome of the sky beyond. It was the pale pastel of blue hydrangeas, and the occasional cloud scudded by. 

The home had felt more capacious when she was younger. Homes back then hadn’t always been built with orcs in mind, but her parents had made due. The church had always been home more than this place—where she bunked down, where she had made her first friends.

A part of her wanted to say goodbye to it, like it was important, somehow—but they normally didn’t ‘do’ things for the sake of it, for sentimentality. Normally she had orders that determined what was important for her. A part of her missed that—she could seek out as much guidance as she wanted, but everything was only ever a suggestion, never demanded.

Maybe it was to see if there was any remnant of her mother that wasn’t stone, earth, or bones—a scent, possession, or painting. A grave hadn’t been enough. She wanted something with more life and memory, to know that not everything had been or would be war—but it had been so long. The dust had settled. Maybe her father was that missing link.

Was it even the same building if there had been an attack from the Chrome Conclave, or did it just occupy the same address? Emon looked like it had a fresh coat of paint over fresh scars, but its core remained intact. Tal'dorei wore scars on its body as much as its people—she hadn’t seen the physical scars from the Scattered War yet, though she’d been told where to find them. The mental ones—she was living proof of that. 

She reached up to brush her fingers against her lone tusk, then wrung her left hand to pinch the stub at her knuckle. Homes could be rebuilt from the ground up—did it make them the same home? Could she be rebuilt?

Had she ever been broken? Could she replace what she’d lost?

They turned in a huff and strode back to their companions.

[strawbebearts]

D&D Tarot Set masterpost

I made a tarot series based on the PCs and significant NPCs in our dnd campaign. Feel free to ask me about any of them!

Disclaimer: I took a lot of inspiration and direction from the Hero Forge minis my group members made of their characters, especially for weapons and armour I wasn't comfortable designing myself.

[Image ID: The Fool. A jaunty fairy with curly hair, a fancy coat and green/orange butterfly wings hovers in the foreground. He carries two wands emitting various coloured lights. Behind him there is an upturned spectral hand, below him is a grimoire page on devil pacts torn in half, and above him is a branch with several oak leaves and acorns.]

[Image ID: The Magician. A haughty fairy with slicked-back reddish hair, fanciful robes and deep blue wings hovers with a polished staff in his right hand and a swirl of green smoke surrounding his raised left hand. A sword, a cup, a pentacle and a wand hover around him, wreathed in the same green smoke. A cloudy infinity symbol hangs above him and an oak branch in brown line art sits below him.]

[Image ID: The High Priestess. The drow goddess Lolth perches on a glowing half-moon seat. Cobwebs trail across her deep grey skin, her white hair hangs across her shoulders, and she wears a malevolent grin. She is gesturing over a crystal ball balanced on her knees while she holds up an aged scroll with demonic runes in her left hand. Two black pillars inscribed with her spiderweb symbol flank her, trailing more cobwebs.]

[Image ID: The Empress. A gnome woman with a long blonde braid and a confident smile lounges in a blue chair. She wears scale armour and a chainmail shirt over a turquoise tunic and a crimson cloak trails off the left side of the seat. She holds a jeweled longsword aloft in her left hand. A spiked golden crown sits on her head. At the foot of her chair is a pie in a white dish with a feminine symbol formed of pastry on top. In the distance behind her is a forest treeline.]

[Image ID: The Emperor. A purple tiefling sits back comfortably in an imposing wooden throne with one boot up on the other knee. He has small horns curving back from his forehead and long dark hair under a fancy golden crown. He wears a luxurious red robe and his fingers are adorned with rings. He holds a black crystal staff or sceptre loosely in his left hand.]

[Image ID: The Hierophant. A lion-themed khajiit with golden eyes stands between two pillars topped with sunray decorations. He wears silver and black plate armour and a white tabard emblazoned with a yellow sun, with a black and gold spiked flail tucked into a hip sheath. His left hand is placed on his chest and his right is raised in benediction. In the foreground a white cat and a black cat sit at attention. A golden key floats above him.]

[Image ID: The Lovers. Two women are embracing and kissing in the foreground. The first is shorter than the other, a barefooted kitsune with long dark-blonde hair, fluffy fox ears and a single fox tail; she wears a pink kimono with flowers embroidered on it. The second figure is a tiefling with dark blue skin and dark brown hair, horns that curve back from her temples and a slender tail with a heart-shaped tip; she wears a simple peasant blouse and skirt and a flour-dusted apron with a rolling pin tucked in her apron. The branch of a cherry tree extends above them with a small black bat hanging watchfully; pink and white sakura petals fall around the couple.]

[Image ID: The Chariot. A brown ox with white socks and soft brown eyes, wearing a golden laurel circlet, pulls a simple wooden cart. A river flows beside her and stars hang above her. Riding on the back of the cart is a small orange turtle with a dark brown shell laced with fiery designs.]

[Image ID: Strength. A young half-elf man in leather armour with his brown hair tied in a topknot crouches to pet a mimic shaped like a treasure chest. The boy wears simple country clothing and carries a steely blue battleaxe across his back. The mimic slobbers as it enjoys its scritches.]

[Image ID: The Hermit. A tanned elf with a shaved head and a white scalp-lock stands contemplatively on a mountaintop, with other mountains fading into the distance behind him. He wears simple monastic robes and sandals, and has a wooden prosthetic left arm crossed over his right hand. Beside him stands a single brown hen, and a large six-pointed star hangs in the sky nearby.]

[Image ID: The Wheel of Fortune. Two glowing yellow figures, featureless except for elven ears and faint suggestions of masculine and feminine torsos, pirouette around a round wooden door carved with the words 'I wish to enter The God and the God'. Behind the door is line art of a huge oak tree. Paper scrolls in each corner of the image show stylized representations of a gust of air, a drop of water, a new leaf, and a flame.]

[Image ID: Justice. An unsmiling half-orc man sits in a high-backed wooden chair. He wears simple country clothes and symbols of the sun. In his left hand he holds a set of golden scales, and his right holds aloft a golden morningstar. Two plain white pillars support a translucent yellow banner. Above him, the ethereal suggestion of a white dove flies.]

[Image ID: The Hanged Man. A dark-skinned eladrin man hangs upside down from a bare branch by one foot. His foot is secured by a length of purple silk. He seems relaxed with his arms behind his head. His light-blue hair hangs downward from a loose tie. He wears deep blue robes with a bronze seashell motif and has a huge silvery sword across his back. His left arm ends in a mess of purplish flesh at the shoulder, and only the bones continue below that.]

[Image ID: Death. A very dark-skinned woman in black plate armour rides on a white horse. A golden crown (matching the one worn by the Empress) sits on her long black hair, and a skull mask slips from her face. There is a silver greatsword on her back and a white rose enameled on her breastplate. In the foreground two elven peasants sit in attitudes of prayer, and in the foreground a silhouetted werewolf howls at the moon. There is a flute in the bottom left corner and a masque and dagger in the top right.]

[Image ID: Temperance. A drow woman with long auburn hair takes a step forward in the foreground, her eyes closed serenely. She wears long boots, a bustier and a blue shoulder cape, and the left side of her face and neck are marked by a glowing violet spellscar. Her arms are spread; her left hand holds a blue orb, while her open right hand is surrounded by a violet nimbus. A pair of silver chalices floats above her head, haloed by the same violet nimbus, and a stream of water pours from one to the other. Behind her, a cave opening descends down into darkness.]

[Image ID: The Devil. An uncomfortably muscular white man snarls, his lank hair falling over his shoulder. The right side of his body is taken over by demonic marks: his right eye is a fiery orange and surrounded by dark veins, there is a fang on the right side of his mouth, and a black and red horn has grown from his skull; the black stone axe he holds in his right hand has fused with his arm, a number of pulsating veins running from his flesh into the shaft of the axe. He holds a flaming torch in his human left hand. Behind him is a pentacle drawn in blood.]

[Image ID: The Tower. A reptilian monster based on the Tarrasque roars in the centre of the image, its back covered with orange bone spikes and its mouth full of terrible fangs. In the background a flash of white lightning forks from the sky. In the foreground a featureless man and woman lie in pools of blood.]

[Image ID: The Star. A young woman with a plain face, olive skin and a brown braid sits by a small pool, leaning on one hand. She wears modest robes that cover most of her skin except her face. Fiery energy surrounds her raised left hand; a hovering ceramic jug pours water into the pool, surrounded by the same fiery energy. Seven glowing stars hang in the sky around a larger, brighter star.]

[Image ID: The Moon. A violet-skinned mind flayer with glowing hooded eyes and a face full of tentacles contemplates a glowing moon suspended between its clawed hands. A pool of some dark substance ripples below it, with the shadowy outlines of six fleeing figures reflected in the middle. In the background is a gilded cage containing a collared white dove (similar to the one in the Justice card).]

[Image ID: The Sun. A young woman with powerful avian legs and a sky-blue crest of feathers on her scalp sits cross-legged in the sun. Her eyes are closed, her head tilted back and her left hand raised to the sun in the top-left corner. Her golden skin has a metallic sheen. She wears a short white robe over a light sleeveless coat with transparent crystal bracers. In the background three sunflowers wave, and where the fourth should be there is instead a golden staff topped by a sunburst with a glass prism at its centre.]

[Image ID: Judgement. A bald-headed genasi woman with rich brown skin marked with golden energy lines stands with her left hip tilted and her right hand raised questioningly. She wears fine clothing of red and turquoise silks finished with gold thread, and a bandolier of potions hangs from her belts. She has a black staff with a serpent's head slung over a shoulder. In the background a mountain split into two halves down the middle looms. In the foreground are two tombstones: one reads 'Sinner' while the other reads 'Loser'.]

[Image ID: The World. In the centre of the image a man in a black religious robe cowers, gazing fearfully at an unseen danger. His bald head is split by an angry red scar that runs from crown to chin, and a symbol of Demogorgon hangs from his belt. Twisting green tentacles form a rough circle around him. The word 'HA' is repeated in red several times across the background. The four corners are occupied by a demon each, one flying among clouds, one swimming with a fish tail, one perched on a rock, and one breathing fire.]

[sharpen-jadescythe]

Sharpen Glitter Hashira Performance, Firefest

Here is my Demon Slayer parody performance from Fire Fest, in case you missed it!

MC: For our next performance… We last left our hunter Sharpen Jadescythe in the flashiest place on Azeroth, slaying monsters. Welcome to the Entertainment District arc, Episode 3: Fire Fest!

[Play music, demon slayer intro:

/e | The intro song blasts! Pink spellfire blazes all around the stage suddenly! Magical projections of heroes in Tarts tabards working hard to sell popsicles, racing along the rooftops to throw glitter on the crowd, and one guy dipping someone in a showy romantic kiss at the kissing booth, all these heroic Tarts flash by!

[Run out]

/dance

/say “Ta ga sode ni saku genka

Tada soko ni ai wo otoshita. Hade ni iro wo tokasu yo ni Ginshu no tsuki wo soete…”

/e | The exciting song goes on, saying the hero cuts the wind as he rolls, growing stronger with each stumble! If he won’t be chosen, then it is time to choose! Sharpen slashes with his weapons…

/roar

/dance

/yell “Koe yo todoroke yoru no sono mukou e. Namida de nijindeta anna ni tooku no keshiki made hibikiwatare. Nani wo kanadete? Dare ni todoketakute?”

/say “It’s okay if it remains uncertain. No matter how dark the feeling. No matter how long the struggle. Scatter as a song, reverberation!” *Sharpen sings.*

/e kneels, exhausted. The ground around him and his clothes are scorched. He hangs his head low. He is dressed in a FLASHY headdress with a black and white uniform, the sleeves ripped off. Large golden torcs protect his biceps. 

/kneel

/say “We Tarts work hard, but hey! This is Azeroth, and villains are all over the place! Tonight, I’m working security.” *Sharpen turns around and points to the giant words EAT GLITTER printed on the back of his shirt.*

[Stand, turn back to audience]

[Take off weapon]

X

Z

/say “I am so fly, so flashy... Tonight, I am the glitter hashira.”

[Face audience]

/cheer

/flex

[Use pearl toy]

/say “How many monsters must I slay hiding here in the flashiest place ever? But this event… is worth protecting. Gods, I love Fire Fest! I hope you guys were having fun all while I was secretly keeping you safe.”

/e turns as a new enemy approaches now in the distance. His long, sensitive Night Elf ears can hear every move the enemy makes.

[Summon pet, Go To put pet opposite on stage, back up to make room]

[Face pet, target pet]

/gasp

/say “Wait, did you guys hear that over the amazingly flamboyant merchants and fireworks here tonight? A unique sound my Night Elf ears can pick up. That means danger!”

/point

/e turns around suddenly, and raises his weapon.

Z

[Walk toward pet a few steps]

/say “I can hear you, foul creature, with such an unflashy approach. Someone with as flamboyant hearing as me could never miss it. Come on out and face me!”

[Go To make pet come forward a few steps]

/e struts toward the sound of monstrous paws coming near. “Don’t worry, everyone! I will handle this the Fire Fest way, with lots of style! I will… entertain you!”

/dance

/cheer

[Play second song, loop:

/e | A fiery felhound appears, flanked by a gang of nasty, snarling monsters. But Sharpen is determined to stay calm. It opens its jowls and lets loose a blazing fel green inferno.

[Use turnip, target it. Have pet attack it]

/e smoothes down his fly, flashy hair, then rushes in. He slashes down the monsters left and right. He takes heads just as the song cries out. But the core hound is still loose!

/say “How unflashy! Get away from that leather goods stall! Those glittering chaps aren’t for you!” 

/e throws his chain so it catches, then hauls on it. He is able to throw himself onto the burning leather goods stand where the creature is feasting on the flashiest leather wear that Fire Fest has to offer!

[Summon Alvin the anvil pet]

[Use chain pet leash]

[Target turnip]

/say “I love buying leather chaps from that stand every year, don’t you dare!” *He slices around with his double blade, frightening the deranged beast.* “Jade form three, scythe wheel!”

[Dancing shoes, dance]

/e | But just as Sharpen saves the burning leather goods stand, the fiery monster blazes a trail down to the murloc booth! Even that goes ablaze!

/say “That’s the flashiest, cutest booth of them all! How DARE you!” *Sharpen trudges there next, swinging his double blade in wide arcs to clear the flames and smoke.* “Jade form one, clear gaze!”

[Stop dancing]

[Use Champion salute]

/e growls as the monster dog catches his weapon in its teeth. He grabs the shaft and tries to tug the creature out from beneath the huge pile of colorful murloc stuffies, now catching on fire. The conflagration erupts! 

[Go To, move pet in all the way close]

/say “Argh! This is a nightmare!!”

/e wins the tug of war and shoves the beast off. But it bowls past him, knocking him flat.

[Feign death]

/say “Ahh!! Not the precious popsicle stand!! Those are so vulnerable to the flame! We worked so hard on the flavors, too! I even have one named after me. Savage! This calls for my strongest attack, yet!” *Sharpen angrily rips his shirt.* “Himbo form five, shirtless wonder!! Waauggh!!”

[Take off shirt, hop up]

[Use critter bag vacuum toy, back up slowly]

/e manages to rush in, shirtless, and intercept just in time to save the booth, but not the popsicles. Oh no!

/point

/say “That… that monster. It killed my friends. Well, my friends’ popsicles, that is. Aw, they’re all melted…”

/cry

/beg

/e | Seeing as how the sticky popsicle juice is all over his dark pants, Sharpen smirks and decides it’s a great opportunity to rip his pants to shreds, too. “It’s getting hot!”

/kneel

[Put on loincloth]

/e | The beast roars back in snarling laughter. In fact, it begins to grow in size, taking up most of the stage. It’s growing in power after consuming so many spectacular Fire Fest merchant booths! Now it sets its flaming eyes on what it has really wanted all along, to ruin the Fire Fest stage itself, before an audience! (Maybe you already feel this way about the Kaldorei hopping around in Tengen Uzui cosplay but oh well!)

[Cast Beastial wrath]

/say “Alright. I am too fly and flashy for this. I’ve had… enough.” Sharpen throws his weapon aside and bows his head in concentration. “I will put a final end to this, with my most powerful form. Tart form ten, glitter from hell!!!” *He smoothes more glitter all over his body.*

/kneel

[Put on more glitter]

/say “Starting now, things are about to get reaaal flashy.”

/e | From the bottom to the top, Sharpen slashes with his bare hands faster than anything, cutting through flame and smoke. He rolls to the other end of the stage.

/dance

[Run to other side of stage]

/rude

[Respec to survival, do showy moves]

[Run over and jump.]

[Dismiss pet]

[Mount corehound]

/say “Aha! You can’t kill me, I’m too pretty!” *Sharpen leaps right onto the corehound’s fiery back to wrestle the beast. He grunts and gives a manly roar as blast waves of flame buffet the whole stage.*

[Jump to do mountspecial x3, turn]

/e is covered in glistening sweat and glitter from head to toe. Our beloved glitter hashira was exhausted when he started this fight. Can he really see it through?

/roar

/e gives a flashy yell and squeezes with his strong thighs to pin the sides of the raging beast. Then, he whips his chain around its blazing chest. He pulls hard with both hands, using this makeshift yoke to harness it. 

/say “Easy, girl! There is a better use for your fiery rage, I’ll show you. Glitter blast!”

[Run forward, close to audience]

/e | At the final moment, when it seems all is lost and the monstrous fiery beast is bearing down on the audience, Sharpen gives a command and it belches a dazzling spray of glitter, not fire, out into the crowd. Is the corehound grinning with those fangs? The rainbow of sparkles is so gloriously… flashy.

[Put glitter on audience]

[Spec beastmastery]

[Put axe weapon back]

[Call pet]

/e whistles and what has clearly always been tamed corehound bows its head and lets him gently down off her back. He pats the beast’s sides.

[Use rainbow toy, hop around, run]

/say “Aww, what a cutie! Let’s give it up for Patricia! Thank you, thank you! Stay flashy, everyone!”

/e jogs over to take up his weapon, bows very hashira-like, slips his uniform shirt back on, and struts off stage with his pet corehound. The words EAT GLITTER are the last thing you see on the back of his shirt as he slips away.

/bow

[Put shirt on]

[Walk away]

[sekhisadventures]

Aziguni's Lucky Number

Valdrakken, the Roasted Ram

Shalandrae sat at the bar as Nitika examined her arm. It had been a few days now and their adversary had yet to reappear, but after that incident Nelen and Grimo agreed that it was almost certain that she targeted Shalandrae because she was alone… and so they all decided to pair up whenever heading out for the time being.

Groups of two, minimum, and never leaving without one of Grimo’s new devices.

With the help of the engineers staying in Valdrakken he was able to replicate his device and made enough for at least half of both Avalon and Savage United now, though it was slow going. Making them small enough to wear on the wrist yet sensitive enough to detect Dissonantia’s demonic allies was tricky work and required some specific materials which weren’t as easy to obtain on the Dragon Isles as they might have been closer to Orgrimmar.

It also didn't help that some people couldn't wear one. Shalandrae's shapeshifting power would render one absorbed into her body (and possibly break it) when she transformed, and Nelen had much the same issue. His own robes were spelled to change size when he became a worgen, but such magic would interfere with the watch's sensors.

At the bar with the night elf and tauren were Nelen and Leza, the former going over a spellbook with the latter to describe the finer points of conjuring foodstuffs from pure magic. The vulpera girl had been eager to learn that one as soon as she could. No vulpera grew up in Vol’dun without experiencing the lean times as it were, and the ability to feed her family with arcane energy alone was something she wanted to master as soon as she could.

Further up the table was Zhan-min, the pandaren man writing in a leather bound journal. His own brewing notes. He and Jaie had been talking recently, and she was trying to talk him into doing something specific. While the pandaren man was hesitant, he couldn’t deny that Jaie’s idea had merit… but he hadn’t quite shared with the others what exactly she wanted him to do yet.

After several long moments and a few gentle prods to gauge Shalandrae’s reaction, the tauren woman nodded, “Well, it looks like besides some spots on your arm still being slightly lighter than the rest you’re almost healed. Should go away in a day or two.” she said, releasing the druid’s limb.

Shalandrae gingerly felt over her arm as Nitika added ‘as long as you don’t pick at it’ under her breath, the elf rolling her eye at her. “Yeah, I know… but yeah, Sekhi and Dareley did good work. I blacked out after Dissonantia ran off, but apparently she’d made a real mess of me.” she frowned. “Bilescourge… ugh… saw too many of those damned things on Argus…” she sighed, then looked up at the sound of hooves approaching through the large stone building. “… huh, speaking of Argus…” she murmured with a grin.

Aziguni was walking towards them, the draenei woman smiling a bit awkwardly as she approached, and as she drew close Shalandrae noticed something different about her outfit.

“Hey, um… Aziguni… where’s your tabard?” asked Shalandrae with a raised eyebrow. Ever since she’d met her, the draenei had worn the tabard of the Dragonscale Expedition… but today it was missing.

Aziguni chuckled a bit nervously, “Well… about that…” she began…

Expedition Field Headquarters, Some Hours Earlier

“A formal complaint against me from the Reliquary?!” demanded Aziguni as she stood in a large tent, across from a dwarven man wearing a loose comfortable top, trousers with lots of pockets, and sturdy boots. He had a long thick beard of black hair running to grey and a monocle in one eye.

“Lass, I get where yer comin’ from aye, but… well…” he took a breath, “A few of th’ other members of th’ Expedition stated they felt… unsafe… given who you’ve been associatin’ with lately.” he nodded, resting his hands on a large table between them.

The table was covered in maps, various bones and samples of rock and stone, a few plant clippings, several pictures taken with a S.E.L.F.I.E. camera of native wildlife, and the like… but in the middle turned so Aziguni could read it was a scroll bearing the seal of the Reliquary.

“… who I have been associating with…” she replied icily, “This is about my brother, isn’t it Balfir?” she looked down at it, then up at him. “Du’thaes and Zelan are behind this, aren’t they?” she frowned.

The dwarf shook his head, “Lass, ye know I cannae answer that. Th’ whole point o’ these sorta complaints is that they’re promised anonymity ta avoid retaliation. All I can tell ye is that they’re in th’ Horde.” he nodded. That much was obvious given that it was the Reliquary making a complaint. Until recently the Horde and Alliance were at war with each other, so the Dragonscale Expedition had set up this system to address issues before they became outright battles.

She stood up, looking at him, “I see… and what does the Explorer’s League say about this?” she asked, keeping her voice as even as possible.

Balfir sighed. “Honestly lass, I’ve been gettin’ rumblin’s from our side as much th’ same. I understand he’s yer family ‘n Velen vouches for ‘em… but…” he paused, thinking for a moment, “… I cannae pretend that there ain’t a lot o’ people on both sides who’d be happy ta see th’ Eredar bugger back off ta Argus.”

Aziguni shook her head, “I cannot believe this Balfir… are you honestly telling me that to satisfy this I would be expected to cut ties to my own brother?” she demanded, throwing up her hands.

Balfir frowned, “Aye, that be th’ lot of it… Again, I understand where yer comin’ from lass, but yer brother is a bloody man’ari! I sympathize, but…” he began.

She scowled, “Yes… and now I am being asked to choose between him and my work for the Explorer’s League and the Expedition. Is that it?” she asked.

He nodded firmly, “Aye lass. That be it.”

She looked down at the notice one more time… then reached for the strap holding her quiver on and undid it, dropping it on the floor.

“Er… lass?” asked the dwarf, looking shocked at her actions.

“Shut up.” she snapped, pulling her tabard off over her head, then tossing it on his desk in a heap. “If I must choose between my job and my family, then there is no choice to be made.” she replied, pulling her quiver back on and turning to go. “I have worked for the Explorer’s League since I first arrived on Azeroth, but now that my brother is… an undesirable… I am being confronted with such a decision. Give my regards to Brann and the others…” she nodded curtly, turning to leave as Balfir goggled at her.

As she left she paused, seeing three elves standing a ways off. Zelan, Du’thaes, and Erimisa… the ones she had encountered after helping Malgum with his injury.

She smirked, gave them a very rude gesture, then whistled as she walked off towards the path out of the camp. As she did Eocundo and Muaaqi made their way over to her and followed alongside her on the road back to Valdrakken.

The Roasted Ram

Aziguni sat at the table with a fresh mug of moonberry wine, blowing out her lips. “In hindsight I may have still been a little testy given everything that had happened since Malgum arrived… but… yes… I am no longer affiliated with the Expedition, or the Explorer’s League at all.” she sighed.

Shalandrae nodded in understanding… to both sides of the story infact. She was willing to at least attempt to tolerate Malgum’s relation to Aziguni, now that the two of them were… well… ‘giving it a try’ as they decided the morning after Dissonantia’s attack, but she also saw where those who complained were coming from too. While it sounded like those Aziguni suspected of it were doing it out of malice, she also believed that there were those with genuine fears and concerns towards the man’ari.

After what she’d seen of Malgum’s ‘felfury,’ she couldn’t deny those fears had merit… even Aziguni was worried seeing that, though her concerns were more helping her brother control and contain such awful powers, possibly even removing them somehow.

Leza huffed at them, the young vulpera piping up. “That’s a buncha yeena crap Aziguni. They can’t just expect ya ta drop your brother like that. I don’t care what he did, family is important!” she nodded firmly.

Nelen nodded, “Mm… that’s easy to say when you haven’t been to Argus apprentice… but… yes, Velen trusts in Azraal and his followers so I’m willing to at least give them the same chance the Alliance gave my people.” he nodded. To say that the worgen were not immediately accepted by the Alliance would be an understatement. The late King Varian Wrynn himself had originally tried to block them rejoining their former allies, and if not for Anduin’s persuading and Greymane helping the Varian with his own less literal but no less problematic inner beast the Gilneans may well have been on their own.

Shalandrae had moved next to Aziguni after her tale had begun, the druidess holding her hand with her uninjured one, a look of concern on her face. “So… what are you going to do now?” she asked.

Aziguni shrugged, “I… honestly do not know Shalandrae. The Explorer’s League gave me a salary for my aid since arriving on Azeroth. Now that this is gone… well…” she winced. At the time it had seemed so clear, but gear needed repairs and both herself and her two companions needed feeding, nevermind that she went through a LOT of arrows. Being a hunter could get very expensive.

Zhan-min however was grinning, the heavyset pandaren man leaning back in his chair. “Well I got a dang good idea for ya gal.” he said. “Back home in Halfhill, we believe a lot in ‘lucky numbers,’ and given how ya’ll are an item now… well…” he smirked, “Maybe its just a goofy ol’ Pandaren superstition, but they say that seven is a good number fer… relationships. ‘specially new ones.” he nodded.

Nelen and Shalandrae looked at him, then the druid shrugged. “Okay… seven… what?” she asked.

Zhan-min’s grin widened, “Ain’t it obvious girl?” he pointed to himself and held up a finger. “Me…” he jerked a thumb back at Nelen and held up another, “Th’ boss back there…” he pointed to Shalandrae and held up a third, “Ya’ll…” then he held up a fourth, “Jaie,” a fifth, “Sam,” and a sixth, “Dareley.” and then he looked at Aziguni meaningfully and nodded slow.

Aziguni blinked in confusion, then it dawned on her as she pointed to herself and replied, “… seven?” she asked.

Zhan-min laughed, “Well why not? Seven is a dang good number for couples, you two are a couple, ‘n if you join us that makes seven of us!” he grinned, gesturing to them and nodding, then adding in an almost offhanded way, “Also ya’ll’re definitely on Dissonantia’s shit-list now that she knows yer th’ one who drew her picture… sooooo… yeah, probably best ya’ll stick close ta us if ya can.” he turned, looking back at Nelen, “Well? Ya’ll agree with me right boss man?”

Nelen scratched at his beard, “I can’t deny that you make a good point there. I don’t follow Pandaren Numerology myself, but seven is a magically significant number… and, yes, now that Dissonantia knows who you are…” he frowned, looking at Aziguni, “Honestly you’re lucky she didn’t come after you already. From what Shalandrae told me she was murderous even by her standards.”

Shalandrae was grinning. She had grown closer to Aziguni after what had happened and while they two were still feeling things out… she did know that the idea of the draenei woman being around more often was something she was quite happy with. “Well, I think we both know you have my endorsement… and probably Dareley’s too.” she nodded, “He and I tend to agree on most things.”

Aziguni chuckled a bit, “Yes… er… I have noticed you and Paladin Steelhammer have a very… um…” she began.

Shalandrae snorted a bit as Nelen chuckled and shook his head. “No!” replied the night elf, “No no no no no by Elune no! Its not like that… Dareley and I are just… well… we’ve known each other since Northrend and… yes, we’re just very very good friends. We founded Avalon together… but… yeah, he’s… not looking for a relationship with anyone.” she nodded.

“Don’t worry Aziguni, you’re not the first one to make that assumption about them. They do rather come off like an old married couple sometimes don’t they?” asked Nelen as Zhan-min gave a loud belly laugh as only one of the Pandaren could, a real belly laugh where he jiggled all over.

Shalandrae gave Nelen an annoyed look, but she didn’t deny it with more than just a small shrug.

Aziguni blushed in embarrassment at that, hearing Leza giggling as she shook her head, “Well, now that we have that cleared up… yes, if you are offering I would be quite pleased to join Avalon. Is there… um… any official documentation? An orientation process? A new tabard?” she asked quizzically.

Nelen shook his head, “No no, none of that. The only one of us who wears a tabard is Dareley, and its his old Argent Crusade one from when he was in Northrend. We’re fairly informal. Unless anyone objects, you’re in… and I doubt Sam would complain… and I know Jaie wouldn’t.” he smirked. Jaie had been telling him a few times how frustrating it was to watch Aziguni and Shalandrae dance around what was clearly a budding relationship, especially when she had trouble finding anyone who wasn’t… well… Jaie found most non-pandaren women to be ‘too skinny.’

Aziguni smiled at his words, nodding, then settled in next to Shalandrae as Nelen ordered them a fresh round of drinks.

“So… Zhan… seven is ‘good for relationships?’” asked Leza, “Uh… how does that work?” she asked.

Zhan-min looked at her, then frowned and stroked his beard, “Huh, yeah guess it must sound odd ta someone who ain’t from Pandaria. Its… um… Pandaren is a kinda… tricky… language fer outsiders ta learn.” he explained. “Lotta overlap in words ‘n how ya’ll say a word can change what it means.” he nodded to the young vulpera, “Our word fer seven sounds th’ same as ‘even’ so people think it’s good fer couples ‘cause it means an ‘even’ relationship. Fair, both people carryin’ their share o’ th’ load… ya’ll get me?” he asked.

“Oh… neat.” she giggled, her tail wagging, “Do ya got a lucky number?” she asked curiously.

He grinned wide, “Sure do! Nine’s mah lucky number, ‘cause its th’ same word we use fer ‘alcohol!’” he laughed, taking his mug as the barmaid came by with a fresh tray.

Aziguni chuckled along with the others, then looked around at them “Oh, um… I did mean to ask… have any of you seen Malgum?”

At this the laughter slowly trailed off. Shalandrae, Nelen, and Zhan-min looked between each other, then Zhan-min shrugged as Nelen and Shalandrae shook their heads in response.

Aziguni frowned, looking worried, “Oh… I was hoping… I haven’t seen him since he ran off after Dissonantia in the Azure Span. I mean… I know he’s probably fine… a man’ari is a very hard thing to kill…” she replied, tapping her finger against the table anxiously.

Nelen shrugged and nodded, “Mm, yes that is true… well, I’ll ask the others when they come back in if they’ve seen him anywhere…”

The Twisting Nether, Dissonantia’s Lair

“’ow much bleedin’ longer is this gonna take Gremori?” growled Dissonantia. Binding Malgum and forcing him to return with them had been difficult, nevermind keeping the spell active enough that he couldn’t invoke the felfury again once his strength returned.

“It’ll be done when its done Dis! This isn’t easy! Eredar skin is tough!” she replied, holding a long, sharpened demon fang in one hand and a jar of felblood and other foul ingredients in the other as she dipped the fang in it, then went back to work.

Malgum snarled around an improvised gag that Dissonantia had Cenoon make when she’d gotten sick of his cursing and threats, which the Incubus had crafted together worryingly quickly. Malgum’s body was uncovered above the waist and his arms and back now sported the beginnings of several large tatoos that glowed a sickly greenish glow.

“Good bleedin’ fing yez know how ta do this…” she grumbled, annoyed she had to rely on the felsworn’s skill.

“Damn right it is. We ink these right and you put your spell in them, and Malgum is as good as your puppet!” she laughed as the captive eredar snarled around his gag and thrashed about, causing her to step back until his strength ran out, then continue her work.

Dissonantia grinned wide, “Mmhm… lookin’ forward ta seein’ th’ bleedin’ look on Nelen’s face when I send that ball o’ felfire ‘n crazy at them!” she cackled.

At this point however, Gremori paused, then looked back at her, “Uh… Dis? You… can’t let him do that.” she warned.

Dissonantia sat up and frowned, the witch seated in her throne as she held one arm out, maintaining the control spell that kept Malgum from calling upon his fel-cursed strength. “Wot? Why th’ feck not?!”

Gremori sighed, “The felfury burns everything. That’s why that whole part of the Azure Span went up like that. Anything around them is burned up, including them. If Malgum uses it, then it’ll burn away the tattoos too.” she explained.

Dissonantia scowled, “Well feck… looks like me new toy is gonna be missin’ one of th’ best bits.” she frowned, “Well, at least he can deal with that draenei bitch that helped Nelen make all those feckin’ wanted posters.” she smirked as Malgum growled and cursed, his words rendered unintelligible by his gag.

“Eh? Wot was that Malgum?” she taunted, “I couldn’t quite hear yez, boyo. Speak up! Didja say ‘I wanna strangle me sister ta death with me bare hands?’ Tsk tsk… patience! Gremori gotta finish yez’s pretty new tattoos first…” she grinned wide, watching Malgum strain against his chains as he bellowed oaths of retribution and death around his gag again.

Dissonantia smirked, a new slave under her direct control… and unlike the black dragon Nitika couldn’t free this one. An’she’s light would burn Malgum as much as the markings, maybe even kill him.

Yes, controlling a dragon was a good idea, but she decided to stick to what she knew… and what she knew was demons.

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