#INFERNALISCOR

[spiderwarden]

Minthara, when loved ones call out her bluff to murder them:

[warwaited]

@infernaliscor

It's, bluntly, textbook. Walk their way in, fight their way out - and, ever so conveniently, the two thralls they for some reason hadn't seen fit to kill when first they met were here as well. Rakatak, sporting several arrows sticking out of her at odd angles and a bloody-mouthed, malignant smile, is locked in melee with the brother of the pair.

He goes high with a desperate overhead, she steps back. The Tooth follows his weapon down. She traps it close to the ground with the haft, then, with a simple half-step forward...

He heaves a wet gasp, the hand-thick, viciously back-spiked blade stuck in his chest halfway down to the crossguard. She takes two steps forward and he's forced to stumble backwards with her, his heels to the cooking fire that still has chunks of dwarf roasting over it.

In her eyes there is no mercy, no acknowledgement that he is worthy to exist.

Then, she turns, coming in close to use the Tooth as a fulcrum and send him away. He stumbles to a hand and knee, probably already not going to make it to his feet with the vertical slice in his torso. Before he can make another sound, the blade falls. So does he.

Rakatak looks at the neatly separated head for a moment, then lifts her chin, turning to regard the bloodbath they've created.

Her eyes land on Karlach.

"Is there something on my face?"

[aamusedly]

@infernaliscor FROM HANCOCK .

Bunker Hill was an easy stop. Despite the staring, the wariness, and the clutched weapons, no violence broke out-- between Karlach's intimidation and Hancock's charm they managed to get inside without a problem.

The ghoul's business seemed under the table-- first a conversation with an old barkeep that involved the exchange of holotapes and caps. Railroad business, which was kept quiet for their sake.

Next was another exchange for some written documents; deeds for shipments of supplies out to Goodneighbor. A couple 'who's your new girlfriend' shouts came from one of the drunks at the bar gumming his way through a plate of Brahmin jerkey, but Hancock seemed intent to take it as a missive for a genuine introduction.

The ghoul spoke about her as if they'd known each other for years, and he trusted her with his life. No better way to seed somebody's reputation, really.

The sun was setting, and Hancock seemed intent to stay the night. It looked like the local hospitality was spared for a couple mattresses under the tattered awning of a ragged shelter, the cold and starry sky visible through the cracks in the roof. Hancock had taken a moment alone to fetch supplies as he'd put it.

Which, unsurprisingly, was a bottle of vodka, an inhaler of jet, and a large bowl of what looked like stew and chips from the local cook. He set the bowl down in front of Karlach, then took a seat next to her. "Alright, Red Hot. Now that we've got the mood lighting of a nice night under the stars, lemme ask."

"What's your story?"

[vigilant-cleric]

@infernaliscor

____

Right. He could do this. His training was very far away, but he could remember it. What to do in a situation where you were dropped in the middle of nowhere without memories of what dragged you there? Alright, well, it wasn't this exact wording, but there had to be something... Gather supplies, water, wood for a campfire, spot a place where you can see without being seen to camp at, and don't stay alone, don't stay alone, don't stay alone.

This part he knew. Hammered home by the sergeant.

Ashen removed his helmet for a brief moment, wiped at the sweat on his brow. Despite everything, he was gathered. Calm. Focused. This would not last for long.

As he made his way through the wilderness, he pushed the roots on his way with his boot, shoving them away. Enough of a lapse in concentration to find out that there was someone nearby, and that she had probably heard him before he noticed her.

A tiefling. Not an unusual sight, but something froze within him. For a moment, his rational mind shut off. His veins turned to ice. Something awoke within him that he had not felt in a long time, and he could not quite place it. His breathing quickened, his ribcage felt like an inescapable prison. Anxiety. Fear. Dread. Anger. All of this at the same time.

He felt like the best choice in that moment was to flee, but his body would not move despite giving the order repeatedly. Finally, he knew what was wrong. He could see them again in his mind. The inferno of Elturel, the smoking ruins, the snickering cambions.

"Great Guard help me," was the only thing he managed to mutter under his breath. He had stumbled upon one of Zariel's soldiers, or so he thought.

[radiaking]

+ memes / accepting!

@infernaliscor said: ❝ okay, rocky start. could’ve been worse, though. ❞

        There is dust and debris everywhere, bodies strewn here and there, mostly unconscious, some still groaning in pain. "Coulda been a helluva a lot fuckin' better."

[o-rusted-heart]

"So, what do you think? Reckon you could do something with Old Rusty here?"

The old synth had been gently pulled aside on his latest trip to Goodneighbor. Usually he'd take it as a threat considering the town, but... well, it was hard to deny the mayor a favor when he asked for one.

Just a look at his new bodyguard. Nick figured it was a way to brag up until he laid eyes on her, blinked, and then squinted at the indicated... thing.

A pulsing heat where her heart should be. Nick grimaced and dropped his hands to his hips. "I, uh... I dunno. I've never seen anything like it. I'm just gobsmacked you're alive and talkin' to me, doll."

"But, uh, clearly you are. So we're already on the right track, I suppose." A pause, and Nick seemed to remember he was staring at a woman's chest. He took a polite step back and bowed his head. "Name's Nick, but I assume our favorite Statesman already filled you in on that."

[heartsdefine]

@infernaliscor — lucy maclean starter call / accepting!

        “Thank you,” Lucy says, echoes of relief in her voice despite the wariness in her eyes. A few days ago, the dead ghoul this stranger just took out would have been enough to win her trust. Now, she's learned to be more careful. “Sorry, I just...” Lucy exhales a sigh. “I haven't met too many people up here who are willing to help each other out.” She swallows, trying not to think too much about how dry her mouth has gotten, or the taste of dust on her tongue. “I'm Lucy.”

[bloodymyhands]

@infernaliscor liked for a starter

many months ago, perhaps alicent would've suggested this exact thing herself. viserys had never had any interest in tieflings being involved in their wars, but she'd never had anything against them. now, though, with her son on the throne and her other son thirsty for power, she wonders if this was the correct course of action for them. the council had agreed, and she'd had no power to veto it. here she stands now, picking at her fingernails, watching one of those specific tieflings wander the castle. she's not the best judge of character, but she can already tell that they're out of place here.

a wicked, fucked up part of her almost wants to tell them to head to dragonstone. to join rhaenyra's cause, in a way that she simply isn't able to. she wonders if she's dooming her children by considering that. ( she wonders if she cares. )

she swallows her pride and approaches, trying to play gracious host. it's a role she's exhausted of, and no longer a part she wishes to play, but one she's stuck in. "you'll have to forgive the council," she says, her tone even and serious, contradicting the small attempt at a smile on her lips. "they are... not the most..." kind? approachable? smart? "... tolerable, on occasion."

she nods at the display of wine behind the bar. the room they're in is a large space meant to entertain, but no one comes here anymore. "drink?"

[recitedemise]

He's a man of talents, and he's not the inclination to deny it. Gale's unrivaled in his cooking, is an archmage and a half in the wizarding arts, and rousing all a party with his speechcraft and wiles? Come, now. There's hardly sunlight enough to tally them all. That said, though it's surely hard to think on, he's not come entirely fashioned without his flaws. He's a twinge bit haughty and evidently (apparently) thoroughly absorbed, but perhaps easier to believe is how he languishes at knitting -- and tangentially related, operating on dolls. He approaches Karlach's tent, her half-mangled stuffy stitched gracelessly together. But it's the thought that counts, he'd say, if not his show of undeniable care. Knocking on her tent post, he blames al the goblins that had rendered Clive a sieve. Removing his hand from his back, he presents him in his glory.

"Admittedly, your cuddle-companion looks shabbier than he had before," he greets, "but like a swashbuckling adventurer with his share of scars, I dare say it merely lends him a debonair quality -- and some charm." Ample amounts, in fact. Chuckling, Gale leans back, proud of his joke and a endearingly clumsy. Ugh. "But, um, should you find yourself amenable, I am more than willing to substitute in for him. When the need arises, of course, though I'm hoping he won't soon be out of commission again. I'm certain a single weaving of Mage Armor can discourage any burning."

Darling, silly wizard! ...What a generous proposal. / @infernaliscor.

[spiderwarden]

Minthara's gaze has long shifted from the night's comedy, head resting along the cushion of the sofa to watch her. Wine glass empty and set atop the small stand at each side of the furniture. Her legs were propped over Karlach's thighs, the tiefling's boot resting atop the coffee table near the box of half eaten pizza. Somewhere in all of the casual affections of shared company, Minthara felt something else start to bloom. A warmth like no other as she scoots closer along the cushion and cups her chin to pull her eyes away from the television. Just so she could kiss her, and kiss her with enough tenderness to convey to Karlach just what she wanted from her.

@infernaliscor - let's make out.

[aamusedly]

@infernaliscor from HANCOCK.

"Marowski pulled his business, Hancock." Fahrenheit hit him with it nearly the moment he and Karlach made it back through the gates of Goodneighbor. "He got a shipment in this morning, didn't stop for our usual skim. Says he's got new buyers in Diamond City."

Hancock straightened, shoulders squaring in a look of barely suppressed shock. He was still waterlogged, and still limping from his battered ankle, but that suddenly became much less pronounced. "...And? What did the Watch do?"

"They told him to talk to you. But you weren't here, so Marowski says you can come to him." Fahrenheit's tone was grim. "Nobody fought him on it."

"Motherfucker wants me to beg," the mayor growled low in his throat. And he continued towards the Statehouse anyway. "Come on, Red Hot. I need a fucking drink."

"...You're not gonna talk to him? If he pulls his chem business, the Neighborhood is gonna suffer."

"I don't beg." His lip curled as he stepped on that ankle, refusing to limp.

[vigilant-cleric]

@infernaliscor

____

Scrambled were the hordes of Zariel; at the cry of 'Hellriders! Hellriders!', the ranks of devils weakened in resistance and the cavalry charge cut through them like butter. All the better to go on a hunt for a stray soldier, lost among fleeing waves.

At the back of the battlefield, two guards listened carefully to their commander, a middle-aged tiefling whose looks alone inspired respect. They had been invested with a new status and a new mission. After stiffly saluting the officer, they left the premises to hoist themselves up on their horses, spears strapped to the saddle and ready to equip.

Sweat pearling on their skin, armour shining under Avernus' sky, the two cavalrymen set off to find their target. A dragonborn and a human, one of the Hellriders' best pairs. Their link was so long-lasting that they barely needed to communicate to achieve their spectacular cavalry stunts, and if need arise, the human knew just enough draconic to discuss strategy without being understood.

In short, they were the best fit to find the champion of Zariel. And, oathbound, they would chase her to the end of Toril, unrelenting, formidable models of Elturian efficiency. They at least needed that to trap the fearsome barbarian who had slayed so many of their companions.

[warwaited]

@infernaliscor

There was a time, not long previous, when Rakatak wouldn't have wanted to be caught dead at a place like this; she's not so unaware of herself that she thinks her particular attitude towards those she deems lower than herself is palatable. When you're raised to believe that you're better than everyone else and virtue lies in letting them know it, the impulse to impose can be very difficult to shake.

These days, though, social structure feels... less important. Both because of the stakes of what they've been doing, and for other reasons. Over the past weeks, the paladin has learned things about herself, and about the empire. It had started at the Rosymorn Monastery; some mostly disinterested reading of a dusty old visitor list spiralling into a chase across the Underdark and no small portion of the shadow-cursed lands for something she hadn't initially been willing to tell anyone about. Not even Karlach.

Eventually, the search ended deep below Reithwin. The Thorm mausoleum and the Sharran temple it concealed were both resting places for things history would rather have forgotten, and in one partially-secluded chamber, the group had found something terrible.

A skeleton, surrounded by more skeletons. Sat on something that was close enough to a throne, dressed in the remains of what looked like hobgoblin armour. It had sprawled across the chair, time-scoured skull yawning open in an endless laugh.

Perhaps it would have been a better idea for Rakatak not to have taken its crown and sword, but the force of her personality and the near-desperation in her voice when she had told Karlach that this was "something she had to do" had won out.

Now, the person that sits across from her, the flames of war flickering in her eyes, crown resting proudly over her brow, may not be Rakatak at all. She is, however, a good bit more level-headed with the waitstaff. She gently waves off a waiter, informing them she's still deciding what she wants to eat before returning her attention to the tiefling sat across from her.

A momentary pause, followed by a small but open smile. "...there is a part of me still tempted to bluster a bit, you know. Make grand claims about what bounty I would bestow you, were we on my own shores - and another part still that would rather have made a supper of what we have secured from afield. It would have been... truthful, I think. But a request was made, and is now rendered."

She folds her hands in her lap.

[bakrahispul]

what happens if u lick a lamppost in winter?

While the question gave rise to thought, their current situation deep in the depths of Grymforge was not properly thematic given the topic.

Sweating, slumped and cuddling a frozen thermal stone begrudgingly provided with Gale's spellpower, several campmates had themselves tucked inside their tents, enjoying the tender chill emanating from their stone while the lung-stuffing air of the heated forge whisked it away. All but the tiefling seemed to suffer quietly in this environment.

"During winter, we were given an opportunity to provide frozen dairy popsicles toward wandering traders and any inquisitive friend of nature." He started off, mimicking the hold of a popsicle towards Karlach with the oval thermal stone being an example.

"We always warned many - but some still encountered the problem of lapping the cold surface slower than you should..."

Halsin's mouth opened, and out came a tongue with surprising heft. He licked the surface of the chill stone slowly until he paused midway.

"Ang if ih happen hoo you, your tungh whill het stuc." He concisely pointed out, showing Karlach his partially glued tongue.

"Ohkhey, I hneed helf."

[illithilit]

@infernaliscor liked for a starter

          GOING SO FAR out of their way for the sake of one companion, and one alleged devil, wasn't exactly high on the list of things Amis could claim to be pleased with; had everyone ever so conveniently forgotten about the part where they all had ghaik spawn squirming about their skulls? Regardless of what they did, the prognosis wasn't liable to be great, but there had to be better ways of fighting to get them out than stopping for every singular bleeding task someone asked them to do. Wyll seemed at least marginally useful, but..... Useful enough to warrant this? He'd refuse to believe it until the man had proven as much.

          But when they'd drawn near enough to see the woman in question and for Wyll to begin whatever exhausting speech he felt the need to profuse, the Gith rounded with a hissed 'desist' and bared fangs. He'd known plenty of devils over the decades of his time in Avernus; none would ever deign to lower themselves into the visage of a quarter-breed, at best, for as much as they looked down upon half-breeds.

          "You bear a tadpole like the rest of us, yet I know a denizen of Avernus when I see one." One claw raised up in an unspoken 'don't protest yet.' "If I remember correctly from my own decades of service, you were one of Zariel's favourites, no...?"

[shadovan]

@notyetfixed, @wildskissed, @infernaliscor

You three are amazing and I adore you. Thank you for this. And the feeling is 100% mutual. xo