#Tel'lmaltath

[clone-appreciator]

ty for the tag @zaahvi

last song: Mr.Kitty- After Dark

favourite colour: i don't have one/all of them

currently watching: SGS play SOMA

last movie/tv show: Captain America: Civil War

spicy/savoury/sweet: yes

current obsession: I am once again in my Bucky Barnes era. the GAR and the Tel'lmaltaths are fighting back tho.

last google search: google, to find out what my last google search was (it was falcon and the winter soldier related)

i shall tag @kebiinika, @the-rambling-fatebender, @zealfruity, @agentartemus

[arkt-nehrim-archive]

~   “And it was at this moment as Selna thrust her spade into the ground to erect the first palisade, that Malphas spoke unto her; Enderal, the land of a thousand leaves, which shall outlast the -millennia-! This shall be the name of the new kingdom.”      Lithirill read from the tome in her hands as she peered up at the blazing red star for which the clouds seemed to part, snapping The Path shut and tucking it into her woolen robes. “It never fails to interest that Malphas seemed so attached to that name, an   Enderal poised at both the West and the East corners upon Vyn. Though... only one still stands of course.”

Snow crunched under heeled boots as another behind her scoffed aloud, a puff of steam billowing out. “The only interesting thing about that book is that both his guiding star and his supposed ‘kingdom’ have both outlasted -him-. The irony. We’ll see how long that will last, the way things are going with Taranor and the Ring.”

Narathzul spoke in mocking tone, making an uncouth gesture toward the sky. He only tensed a little when his partner’s fingers settled between his shoulders, quick to mimic her action and drape an arm across her back.

“It shall stand in some form or another, regardless of what comes. The land claimed and the crimson star above stood the test of time long before Malphas ever made use of them. It tests my memory to recall it, but twas by the light of that star we chased our King here, to enact our final battle- Malphas leading the charge, as was ever his wont. No doubt it bore special significance to him.”

The third voice was quiet in his recollection, a trail traced in the snow by feathers he was yet accustomed to having again as he joined the pair.

Lithirill smiled warmly when his fingers sought her own, Arkt knowing well the weight that plagued her, his presence and touch assurances of his promise. 

Taking heart in the presence of both souls, she took in a deep breath of icy air, borne of a winter that would not retreat for another moon, putting aside her worries and pondering at least the merit of what possibilities the turning of a clock could gift.

“So ancient a thing...” she murmured, “Whatever shall it witness in the times to come, I wonder?” 

~

For @jilljoycearts​ ‘s Arrival prompt!   Late, and one of a couple, but it was nice to have reason to draw them together again.  =)

[thetirashan]

Soup of the Day

Written for 2021 Vyn Spring Event.

Two guys sit in a bar and bitch about how Narathzul can't govern a city worth a damn. One is a future Shadow God and the other has seen some shit in his lifetime. Huberto just keeps stirring his soup in the meantime.

Set between Barateon's death and the Shadow God's arrival in Ostian.

Vendil had a love-hate relationship with transitional periods. They were always full of uncertainty, chaos, and destruction. Sure, he ushered in his own transfer of power from one egomaniac to another but that didn’t mean he liked it. Order and structure were his bread and butter.

Yet on the other hand, three o’clock was always the best time to visit the tavern. It wasn’t the most inviting scene to walk into it but there was something to be said about the cool crisp privacy of a near empty bar. There was just him, a few washed out old men, and Huberto. The latter knew that he was the one to help overthrow Barateon, Vendil could see it in his eyes, but the man stuck to his routine. Vendil ordered a glass of beer and a bowl of unsalted peanuts, Huberto nodded before delivering the order, and Vendil paid upfront. Neither one gossiped about the other. It was balanced and even-handed -- an exchange at its simplest.

The sound of boots shouldn’t have broken him out of his stupor. Occasionally travellers would wander in to scarf a hot meal before passing out in a room after all. They barely paid attention to the innkeeper much less him. With that said, his head still snapped up at the jingling.

It was a steady lulling noise. A single heavy boot step then that faint jingle. Almost comforting in a way as he blinked at the figure strolling through the door. The darkness by the threshold gave him the visage of a spectre but the candlelight revealed a man cloaked in soft browns and greens with a wide brimmed hat crowning his mop of red curls.

Huberto glanced up from handing a customer a plate of smoked sprat with an astonished look. It was quickly gone with a blink and a small cough into his elbow.

“Good afternoon, sir. Can I get you anything?” he asked, keeping his eyes directly on the patron before him. Vendil didn’t know the innkeeper well but he could spot a nervous man a mile away.

“I’d like a cup of wine and a bowl of whatever you’ve got over the hearth.” the man, now revealed to be Aeterna, replied. With his hat under his arm, the man’s identity was immediately determined, forcing Vendil to take a long sip of his beer. So much for a relaxing day.

“Potato soup?”

“That’ll do. Just one bowl please.”

As he waited, the man leaned against the counter and scratched at his beard, looking everywhere except where Vendil was lounging. However, the moment the small tray filled with hot soup and wine was given, his head snapped towards his direction with a sunny toothy grin. His teeth were remarkably straight despite the coffee stains.

“Well, well… if it ain’t the lava hopping asshole.”

Huberto’s eyes widened for a brief moment before clearing his throat and focusing on cleaning the dishes in a tub near the hearth. Vendil just sighed, swallowing his bite of peanuts.

“Vendil.” he replied curtly.

“I know. I’m poking fun at you. Still gives me a giggle from time to time.” he drawled out, taking the seat across from the other man. He could only sigh as Arthan let out a rusty old gate chuckle.

“Why are you here?”

“Aw, why you gotta be like that? You know with Anku all a-buzz that there’s no work so I decided to crawl outta my hole. Heard that someone let ol’ Narry boy out of his cell and let him go wild. Now he’s in Erothin with his fingers up his ass while you run the show. Am I caught up?”

He opened his mouth to reply, only to shut with a clack. Arthan’s grin grew obnoxiously as he leaned back and sipped on his cup of wine. Vendil could only groan and rest his forehead against his hand as he slouched over his beer.

“Perhaps it’s… something like that.” he mumbled out, taking a long sip of his beer. Glancing down into its bottom, he briefly wondered if a second was in order. Wasn’t part of his ‘destress’ routine but neither was a mouthy Aeterna that kept grinning at him.

“Mm, I’m guessin’ by all those posters slapped on every corner that he’s taken a bunch of credit too.” he tsked, not bothering with the spoon to enjoy sipping on his soup. Vendil only grunted at that. “I wish I could say ‘I told you so’ but even I didn’t expect him not to… I dunno -- not give a shit about his partner in crime.”

His sigh could barely be heard over the crackling of the hearth and Huberto’s soup pot stirring. Arthan cocked his head to the side ever so slightly as his grin softened to a smile. “It wasn’t always like this.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“What do you mean…?

“You’re running a city for him. Now I’m making an assumption but I figure that it’s a high stress job. You’re no longer the hero that saved him but an underling that files tax reports. None of those posters even mention you. Not exactly fair and not a good sign.”

The pinch of peanuts that Vendil held quietly dropped back into the bowl as he glared. Arthan, of course, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. “Good sign of what? The city is doing relatively well considering the coup.” A wave of disgust washed over him at how weak his words felt. Suddenly he yearned for the taste of whiskey, not cheap beer.

“He’s half assing city governance to the extent that his closest friend is hiding at a bar to avoid snapping from the pressure. Imagine what’ll happen once he gets Nehrim under his belt.”

Immediately Vendil held a single finger up, earning a cocked eyebrow. “How do you even know any of this? Or are you just pulling all this out of nothing?”

“Shit, Vendil, just open your ears and walk around the market. I’ve only been in the city for three hours and a five minute smoke break by the bank told me more than I wanted to know. Vendil Auralus approved of some new guards, Vendil did such ‘n such tax reform, talk to Vendil if you got concerns. Blah, blah, blah. Not too hard to put two and two together.”

An awkward silence soon filled the room, leaving only the sound of the crackling logs in the hearth. Huberto, despite his nature, peeked over his shoulder towards them, still hunched over the dish tub. A quick wiggle of the eyebrows from Arthan made the man snap his head forward so quickly that Vendil was sure he had whiplash.

“I, uh…”

“It’s so damn obvious that it might as well slap me on the ass on the way out. I’m only telling you this because you seem to be the only one who doesn’t know. Don’t feel bad about it. No one really knows their own reputation.” Arthan’s chair creaked softly as he leaned back further like a lazy cat in the sun. Vendil simply glanced at his reflection in his glass. His face was colored piss yellow from the beer but even that unflattering shade didn’t hide the circles under his eyes or the droop of his ears. Golden eyes were unashamedly looking at him once he finally tore his gaze away.

“You’re not chickenshit so what’s the problem?”

Another sigh -- probably the millionth of that afternoon. “He murdered his girlfriend and father. Narathzul’s not exactly the most reasonable person.”

“So?”

“So…”

“Listen, I’m not exactly the most knowledgeable with history but Narathzul has a mile long track record of failing miserably. Treomar? Just look at the place. His little conquest of Inodan? He ended up getting tossed into a cell and was rotting for a thousand years. His little recent streak of luck has been less about luck and more about you.”

“He murdered his girlfriend and father.”

“I know, I know but you got leverage. You’re justified in saying something. And if he tries to pull something funny? Well, you’ve got a shield and a mean right hook, don’t you? What other options do you got left? At this point, it’s not if he’s gonna fuck you over but when. Do it on your own terms at least.” He loudly sipped on the dregs of his wine. As he did, he spotted from the corner of his eye Vendil’s face contorting into a mess of expressions -- rage, confusion, disgust, and a few unrecognizable ones. Eventually he settled on something akin to a dried out old grape -- scrunched up and quite bitter.

“All he does is pour over the Predestination and sit on his throne. I can barely get his signature much less get him to govern the city. It’s like he sees Erothin as nothing more than a stepping stone instead of a living breathing city. The people here have hopes and dreams and I can’t just ignore them.” he groaned, feeling the tightness in his chest unclench just a little.

“I get what you’re saying but the Predestination?” Arthan asked softly, leaning over the table just slightly.

“It’s a prophecy about the Shadow God or Tel'lmaltath… or whatever. Basically it’s about a god of shadow dethroning the Light-Born and restoring balance. Like all prophecies, it’s vague enough to mask the incompetence of others.” Tension yet again plucked at his chest. This is clearly private information that Narathzul entrusted to him. Focusing on Arthan’s face, he noted the tenderness the man surprisingly invoked. Concern wove itself into the man’s crow’s feet as he reclined back once more. He expected guilt to overwhelm him at the admission but it never came.

Arthan’s lips thinned as he fell silent for a moment. His eyes flickered back and forth between his lap and Vendil’s eyes. “Now that is worrying…”

“What? That he intends on killing the gods?”

“No, no. Those seven aren’t gods. Never were, never will be. Their downfall is inevitable. But what concerns me is the source of this prophecy and amount of shit Narathzul’s going to be in. For a man who spites the gods, he sure does love blindly following higher powers.”

Vendil’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched the other all but pour the rest of his now lukewarm soup down his throat. “In a hurry somewhere?” Vendil asked quietly, his voice surprisingly weak.

“I’ve still got some errands to do while there’s time left. Can’t you feel it? There’s a spring thunderstorm coming soon.” His ears twitched as he rooted around in his bag, grumbling as the various mish-mash of his pack clinked together. “Um… oh! There we go. Got a gift for you.”

“You left the king so frazzled that he forgot to properly gift you a token of the Starling’s affections.” he explained as Vendil examined the scroll. The paper felt like butter in his palms, so smooth and alien, with an even odder looking strap of leather tying it together. “A teleportation spell in case you need to head back to Anku, specially made by the old bird.”

Vendil only nodded, knowing better than to question the reasoning of Starlings. “Well, I appreciate it. I’ll have to thank him later.”

A shrug was his response as Arthan quickly plopped his hat back on his head. “The man might be gone by the time any of us get back to Anku. They’re getting ready for the ‘Grand Voyage’ and all that. Thankfully, the old bird is staying behind.”

“The king?”

“Nah, the old bird.” he clarified, not bothering to explain further as he slung his pack over his shoulder after rising to feet. Huffing, he glanced over at the innkeeper who kept himself busy with the soup. “Well, I might see you around later. Might even visit the palace for work.”

“Interested in joining Narathzul’s army?”

“Fuck no, just need the work. Narry can kiss my hairy ass.” he mumbled, rifling through his pockets to slap some coins down for the meal. “Enjoy yourself, you hear?”

“I hear.” he replied yet he didn’t receive an answer nor did he expect one. Glancing down into his beer, he huffed and began to chug. Midway through, his ears twitched at the quiet jingling that grew fainter with each step away. Almost on cue, rain began to fall upon the windows.

“Huberto… I think I’ll take a glass of whiskey if you don’t mind.”

[arkt-nehrim-archive]

picrew

[clone-appreciator]

aaand here we go, run number three.  Hello to Maveth~

[clone-appreciator]

DEJ2021 #1:  Good Tea, Good Book {1 of 22}

DrawEverythingJune by @AdorkaStock

Been meaning to do this challenge and actually finish it since the first. Need to kick the “motivation” bug to the curb and just produce something/anything.

[arkt-nehrim-archive]

                                     “Were you scared of her too?                           What truly shook you to your soul, I wonder…                                  That she loved you unconditionally?                              Or that she knew when to give up on you?” 

[Credits] Narathzul armor design by @jilljoycearts Pose reference (for free use) by Kate-Fox

Finishing something feels niiiiice.  This is one of the bigger angst moments in Lithirill’s journey through Nehrim, where an at first natural friendship rapidly withers as Narathzul shifts back into old habits- or perhaps simply reveals his “true self”. Yet Lithirill has caught glimpses of something else, those small moments spying the man taking hold of her olive branch and hanging on for dear life- and it is for that individual that she cuts deep into the crafted facade of armor, might, and “righteousness”.  She knows it’s a gamble and a dangerous one at that, but Lithirill is a healer at heart, and tends to fixate upon the sickest of patients.

[arkt-nehrim-archive]

@vyntober Day 1: A New Life

Scenes of my intro experiences and characters in Arktwend, Nehrim, and Enderal.  I couldn’t get Myar Aranath working in time for Vyntober, alas. 

[arkt-nehrim-archive]

[Vyntober- Day 2]  The Dreams

@vyntober​ ~ Began again the Dreams, those which proceeded their survival; their seeming victory.  This series; it was a repetitive thing, that each time, the Dreamer could feel herself grow more and more lucid within, yet prove just as powerless as the first time to achieve anything that may alter the conclusion. 

It started from the Sea, and from those waters rose creatures. These creatures strove to fly without wings, and no matter how hard they tried, no matter how many of their own they had to claw through and climb over, never would the sky welcome them… Not until their brazen need rent the sky in twain, and those of the Sea reached down in all their glorious light to reclaim their game pieces-  to reset the board, to begin again.

The Cycle.~

Again those words sounded through her mind as she felt her body begin to burn, the dry, wheezing screams of millions raising into a deafening chorus as, without words or cause, she felt blame for their agony; this chaos, this destruction, this feast- it was -her- doing.  

Rationality knew no home in this nightmare as heat and sound grew to an unbearable tenor, her eyes afire as all that she was and would ever be was consumed, the skies above a jarring, violent blood red that twitched and writhed with an inane life all its own. 

A maw opened, a rippling void- it was hunger insatiable… and yet, as it closed around her, still she screamed louder than it did, till her lungs gave out and with them, all became colder than ice. She was gone…  All of them were gone…To the Sea that would again birth them, as it ever had, as it always would, to repeat this awful process.

“Lithirill...”  

A voice.  Familiar.  Out of the void and always when she needed him most. She strove to focus through the dark, reaching with fingers she no longer had. Every time this conclusion came, it felt like it pressed harder, holding her here longer- as if perhaps the intent was to wait here forever. Her part played… Sleep… Until again you dance on our strings…~

Without eyes, she could swear she saw someone… Some-thing- move, darker still than the void around her, disturbing the growing peace. She thought to chase it- 

“-Lithirill-!” 

The name, and the voice that barked it, pulled her from the abyss with all the effect of the drowning coming up for air.  She barely registered his grip around her arms, unable to know that he hadn’t been pulling her up, but holding her down, the covers of her bed bundled at her feet and some items from her nightstand now scattered about the floor a show of how she’d thrashed.

Hues of peridot snapped open as she took in gulps of air, her head dizzied and her chest pounding with a burning ache like she’d been holding her breath all too long.  

She heard a quiet sigh of relief through teeth as the grip around her arms loosened, the figure lowering to his knees in the dark.  The only part of him that was clearly discernible in the dim moonlight filtering through the windows was his eyes; luminous golden orbs whose own light only highlighted the barest hints of his cheekbones and nose, errant black strands dangling free to occasionally break up the image.  

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”  he murmured, his tone and cadence gentle, but betraying his usual stoic coyness; he sounded worried.  Did he know of what she was seeing then?  

Sitting up properly, arms still warmed by his touch reached out to claim her sheets and drag them up around her bare chest as she settled her breathing. Slender fingers raised to rub at her eyes, a displeased short groan escaping as she felt them slip on what had most certainly been tears. How embarrassing. 

“Arkt...Good morning…” Lithirill managed, her wrist flicking in a half-wave as her free hand flopped down over her covered, crossed legs. “However did you get inside at this hour?”  

Not that she could actually tell what time it was, but judging by the dimness of the light outside, it certainly wasn’t day. It was a subconscious comfort then, that she hadn’t woken to this oppressive dark by her lonesome.  

‘If I would’ve woken at all…’  the thought snaked into her mind unbidden and she flinched at the irrationality of it.  

Arkt watched every movement, able to see far better than she could as his clothing rustled with his movement to stand. Saying nothing, he would stride to a shelf and pass his palm over a crystalline shape, the spark of energy leaping as expected into the crystal and producing a bright enough glow to see clearly by.  

As the room filled with blue-white light, Lithirill felt her heart lurch, reminded all too much of the color her skin had become as it burned in the dream, hearing a thrumming noise inside her ears; slow and droning and constant. 

A sharp snap yanked her back to reality, her wandering eyes looking again to Arkt, who loomed over her from her bedside, his fingers hovering in the air as they briefly curled into a loose fist, before the arm relaxed to his side. 

His eyes were intense now, boring right through her attempt to shimmy away from his initial question, trapping her in a gaze that had ever tightened her throat in what few times she’d seen it. 

“You are obviously unwell. You -know- where I reside, I could have helped.”  

Was that a tremble in his voice? Was he actually angry at her? 

There was so much she couldn’t tell behind that bloody mask of his, and the nuances of emotion in a universally calm voice were ever so difficult to pick up, even when she wasn’t sleep deprived by newly chronic nightmares. 

Mustering a half-hearted look of indignation in hopes it would give her the strength to explain herself, she cradled her chin in her free hand as she glanced up at him with apologetic eyes. 

“-You- told me that you would need time, Arkt. To adjust to peace? To come to terms with…-Everything-?” she mused, trying to resist the need to clear the cobwebs from her throat, unsuccessfully as she coughed sharply and heaved a sigh, “It’s barely been a fortnight, I hardly felt myself welcome as of yet to intrude on your new life. Whatever happened to sending me an invitation?”  

The ancient seraph was not having it. He didn’t doubt for a moment that her concerns were genuine, but his very presence was proof enough she might’ve considered reaching out to him regardless-  whatever she had been seeing in her dreams was loud enough about it to be sensed, with strength enough to call him here on pure instinct. 

He had felt some notion of foreboding for a few days concurrently, but when he was hearing her screams in his own rest, as if something meant to weaponize it against him, it was beyond time to check in. It was all as new to him as it was to her, considering certain details of his past he hadn’t volunteered- but he still strove for the composure she was accustomed to as he responded.

Once again ignoring the dismissive tone in her last words, he simply rested back on his heels. 

“A statement I would’ve made differently had I known you would avoid seeking aid when you needed it, Lithirill. These are not any ordinary nightmares you’re having if I could feel them too… and something tells me from the sleeplessness of your posted guards and the amount of lights still on in the dark of the eve that you are not the only one suffering them...in some fashion or another.” 

She took what pleasantries she could from his words, the simple sound of his voice most of all, shutting her eyes as he spoke. When he had finished talking, she shifted in her bed, tilting her head at him, sending raven half-curls tumbling over her shoulder as she squinted at him. 

“So much known about my new castle and its denizens…and -feeling- my -dreams-?” she mused, eyeing him up and down,  “Are you spying on me, Arkt? How very risque.” 

A brief furrow and raise of his brow suggested she not make this a laughing matter, choosing next to look anywhere but the coiled, nude minx in her bed eyeing him most lasciviously. The lengths this woman went for avoidance’s sake… He suspected she’d try even his nerves eventually. Observing the room, she boasted a rather spacious castle floor entirely to herself, yet she’d not furnished her bedroom with any manner of chair. Unsurprising…  What he knew of her, she probably felt the bed was where to put guests. His eye twitched at the wandering of his mind at that notion as he shook his head like some great annoyed beast, earning a chuckle from his undressed company. 

“Look, you’re here now. I’m not going to rebuke you, and your concern is incredibly touching. If you don’t mind, you can wander out into the hall there and find a seat. I’ll dress myself properly, prepare some tea, and we can talk. Alright?”  Lithirill had leaned back, pulling her sheets completely around her shoulders as to not continue making a lure of herself to a man who was -not- going to respond. The only hint of her sly jabs to remain was in her thin, raised brow. 

Shifting his posture, she could see the lower edges of his mask sway as he exhaled a hard sigh through his nose and nodded. 

“As you wish.”  he answered, turning from her bedside and making his exit. 

Lithirill felt no shame in leaning well to her left as she watched the long-of-limb seraph stride away, a secretive half-grin on her face as she bit the inside of her cheek, eyes fluttering to her ceiling before clicking her tongue and shaking her head. A moment of indulgence taken, now to more important matters. 

Dreams with the power to summon a concerned shadow…The beginning of a new story, she suspected, and all too early considering the rest she felt she had earned…but such was “Godhood”, she supposed.~

[arkt-nehrim-archive]

We all knew he was next. >v>;;  

[arkt-nehrim-archive]

I had to after this.  @jhara-ivez

I dunno who else might’ve needed Arkt doing finger guns but-

[arkt-nehrim-archive]

Narathzul:  I’m just saying...  If physical energy can be converted into thermal energy...  How hard would I have to punch a chicken to cook it? 

[arkt-nehrim-archive]

What happens to Narathzul in your AU( if you have one)

Does Arkt not kill him?

Ah! I’ve been meaning to answer this question, but definitely dragging my feet.  Trying to tell it all through written scenes is the wrong plan I guess.  xD

So!  In my AU, at first it doesn’t differ that much from what happened.  Arkt still kills Narathzul. Even if his reasons are a lil’ sus in my opinion, I do agree with him on the grounds Narathzul woulda probably not done the best things as a Shadow God, PLUS we kind of needed him to be dead, so he could go into the Soul Flayer, to get thUH KNoWLEDGE...s-sort of. 

I dunno, -dying- seemed to benefit Narathzul a bit and my AU plays off that teeniest smidge of character progression there. 

So Lithirill (my SG), takes advantage of that canonically his corpse is just -left- there, unattended.  Do you want terrifying God-tier Oorbayas?!  Cause -that’s- how you get scary God-tier Oorbayas!   -Knowing- this, as a seasoned sinastrope by this point in her life, and coming from Qyra so she treats the dead -well-, not even counting yet that Narathzul is dear to her on some level;  Lith decides to cast a handful of spells to preserve his form. One, so she can come back and give him a proper send-off, -if- she survives what she’s about to have to do.  Two, the last thing she wants to do is come back here and find a twisted, highly overpowered undead monster shambling around that was once her friend.  Arkt doesn’t stand in the way of her doing this, as if he did, she’d be less likely to cooperate with this plan of his to push -her- forward as “the Tel’lmaltath”, thus putting his own path -true- freedom in danger of not coming to pass. From here, they press on together through the end quest.

Fast forward past the ending, and we hit the post-ending questline. In-game, this just kind of appears and that’s probably cause it was kinda tacked on as a patch, so I linked it to Enderal in the sense of “It all starts with the dreams.”   Lithirill begins to have strange dreams, Arkt is able to provide some limited insight, and that is what spurs her onto the quest to seek the Shadow Citadel, this time with Arkt in tow-  they are however separated when Lith goes into her trance and the Soul Wardens arrive on the scene. While he put up quite the fight, the Soul Wardens do make it away with both Lith and the two soul swords, leaving Arkt to try and track her down and fail until the quest plays out in its entirety, Lithirill emerging somewhere between the Middlerealm and the Southrealm.

During this quest, two important things happen.  The Soul Flayer seems like its damaged in some sense (when the Soul Wardens attempt to siphon the souls out of it),  and what most see to figure is a High One intervenes, freeing the Shadow God from capture as well as turning all the Soul Wardens into undead monsters.  Lith doesn’t have much mind to address the bewilderment of the second happening before dealing with the first, as this entire mission has had her spooked that loosing the Soul Flayer is losing Narathzul.  When she gets it back, she discovers he is still present within, but fading- the Warden’s big soulstone thing didn’t get its chance to erase him, he fought back with the power locked in the blade, but doing so left the weapon in a state of rapid decay, and he like many of the other souls already wandering in the area, was going to end up free and -formless- if something wasn’t done.  Lithirill, being unwilling to let this happen, recalls what she did in Arktwend-   Narathzul has a body, ready and waiting.  The question is will he last long enough to get him back into it, -and- will binding him within the flesh again actually -work-? Their theory is essentially using the Soul Fountain- as Narathzul has explained in canonical events that it can expel a soul from the Soul Flayer, so long as that soul is still tethered to a physical body. Lithirill achieves that tether by taking advantage of the fact the Soul Flayer is damaged, and with a great deal of effort and unquestionable damage done to herself in the process, she is able to return Narathzul to his physical form- though he loses much of the memory and knowledge he had within the Soul Flayer, being that he is no longer -part- of it.

There are consequences of course for both Narathzul and Lithirill, she may be Tel’lmaltath, but a Veiled Woman -she is not-. No simply snapping her fingers and resurrecting someone flawlessly with no issues.  I’ll go into greater detail of that when I can, but for now, this answer will have to do. <:P   Thank you for the Ask though!  @dabenport

[arkt-nehrim-archive]

[arkt-nehrim-archive]

                              Lithirill Andethil - Tel’lmaltath

[arkt-nehrim-archive]

refined the armor set she wore for the majority of her playthrough.  colors to come and then a proper write-up