#endless legend cultists

[demiel-kheiv]

Andom the Seer & Edra the Listener

[once-upon-a-day-of-living]

Have I mentioned I like the cultists aesthetic from endless legend?

Have I mentioned that I’m shit at video games?

have I mentioned k luv u bi?

[heartfullofleeches]

Offer me your flesh... Not like that

Yan Cultist + Forest Entity/Deity Reader [+18 mdni]

Warnings/Tags: Breeding, monster fucking but you are the monster, tentacle peen, slight size difference/kink, brief mentions of gore/blood but not related to the fucking dw

The watcher of the woods.

A creature known by many names for none of which it cared but remained its mantle to claim. Skin akin to aged bark; horns rooted from the base of its skull like the curving arches of branching trees - the beast towered over all sort of man and earned its title for its eyes. Rare were nights starless, but upon an eve without a single dot in the sky it was common to find them hiding out in the trees. As ancient stories foretold - it's said that on those days the guardian of the forest used all its strength even the light of the stars to lead lost souls home. Imposing as it may be, the creature was a peaceful giant, protecting its land and those who treated it in kind, but as legends of old often became lost in translation - it too fell to the hapless adulteration of time and unwavering, blind devotion.

The worship of humans was a peculiar mistress. Old as the soil itself, the watcher predated the existence of mortals in the region and civilization as a whole. When the founders of the town at the base of the hills culled its land to build the foundation their homes - the watcher taught them cultivate the furtile ground and keep peace. It consindered all who entered its lands as members of its flock - no matter how strange they may be.

For the majority, the humans adored their new guardian. The teachings of gods known before where easily tossed aside in favor of a new master. Caring as it may be- the watcher's fair intentions were mistrude as otherwise when it was found to take the bodies of those lost forever to the forest back to the mountains where it lived. It had seen the way humans stored their dead and wanted to honor their cultures as best it could. Its followers mistook its deeds as a call for sacrifice from the crop it had harvested - and who were they to deny their God.

Those who oppose and those who worked their entire lives towards the ultimate goal of being sacrifice to their God were the first to face death. Blood drained; bodies butchered and displayed on the forest floor like fine feasts. Their God was not pleased with their actions and was repulsed by the smell of human blood; diet consisting purely of what its land birthed and the occasional scraps left behind by the natural hunters of the woods.

The humans would sacrifice those worthy at mass and considered new loses to be god's will. It was seen as sacrilegious to return after a night lost in the woods. The watcher lost favor in their humans through these massacres- and the heart wrenching sobs of a lost hiker it had savecthroughly mislead in their worship and bestowed their false knowledge on new generations - but there was one thing they had gotten correct with their research and discoveries involving their lord.

A shift in behavior - marking the change between seasons summer and fall. The watcher's hardened shell withered and softened into thicker, mossy flesh; antlers curling twice as thick and pained whines the kind to send anguish into the hearts of all beings if not for the pleading moans and scents it gave off. The guardian longed for mate - just like every creature in its forest.

In true alignment with their predecessors, the new age failed to realize the correct way to approach their God in such a sensitive state accordingly. Bathing in the blood of the fallen and wandering naked through the wounds - it repulsed the creature so it fled into premature hibernation to rid itself of the aches and frustration. Doomed for entity - the only of its kind; the watcher suffered countless falls with release. It no longer desired the company of man yet yearned for embrace. Alone, wretched, miserable - the watcher imagined its remaining years trapped in endless parallel and pain... and yet as with the seasons-

All things change.

It happened as the trees were stripped of their bearings and nights grew fringed. A musk within range of the watcher's natural intensity wafted over the forest. The fresh dew of spring and the warmth of summer - two elements that brought the creature comfort in harrowing times. Following the scent, the lewd slick of flesh and muffled moans overlap - flooding the lesser god's loins with familiar ache and need.

The watcher tread out into the clearing to find a human perched beneath one of its trees - fingers at work between their legs and shirt tucked between their teeth. A circle of candles and incense surrounded them; a bed of leaves and spare blankets cushioning their body from the hard floor. The tee helped between their teeth was the same color as the moss encasing the local deity's body and the emblem of its horns. A ranger - one that bares resemblance to a face once riddled with fear; now barring the opposite emotion. Lowering the match the mortal's height, the watcher did as it does best - studying the human's acts of self pleasure with intent. Startled by a pitched whine, it's antlers knock against the trees as it lurches.

"You're finally here, huh? Kept me waiting."

The watcher reals as the ranger spreads their legs, fingers plunged deep as they wiggle their hips at the air.

"Don't be shy... We have a special connection you and I.... I'm talking to you."

With a soft chitter - you exit the trees. Stalking forward on all fours, you sniff at the human's arousal as your snout draws against their skin. Black tongue wagging, it sweeps their tender flesh pleased to find no traces of acidic blood and a hint of ripe fruits instead. Enthralled with their taste and scent, the fright as they bring a hand up to your face is enough to cause second retreat. They coo, swallowing the stimulation of being in their lord's presence, and reach out - free hand carding through their hair.

"Hey - hey, don't panic- You remember me, don't you? I was that hiker you saved a few summers back. I always thought the legends were bullshit, but I was still afraid of the unknown. It turned out to be beautiful - my soul mate. See this? I got it when I fell in the river and hit my head on the rocks."

A dated scar bleeds through their hairline. You snort, breath fanning their neck as you cage them to the trees with your larger body, awaiting their next move. Faith unwavering - their hands skim and carcass your torso, glinding through the mossy fur down to the build up of your tension. Teasing the sheath with their nimble digits, you shutter - legs parting as a tendril the color of the night sky and thick as the ranger's thigh unfurls from the slit. Quick to work, the human slides under you - both hands at the base of your appendage. You whine as their lips haul your girth in a trail of kisses - length traveling the side of their face as they reach your thigh.

"You must be in so much pain. So many years with everyone in town going about things the wrong way. It's crazy to think I'm the only one to have figured things out - but it just further proves we're meant to be. Don't worry - I'll take all of your loneliness and pain away."

You don't bother to piece together what their saying. The exhales between each word heightened your sensitive to their mouth riding up to the tip of your growth - lips wrestled slack by the weight pressed to them. You cushion their head and neck with one hand as you thrust, seeking the heat of their mouth. The tendril, slick as it may be - only hits quarter way before the human chokes; the convulsions of their throat drawing a pleased hum from your throat which drones into a concerned murr at the tears lacing their flashes. You pull free - bending down to lap at their face. The ranger's heart swells seeing the light of their god's eyes shine for them solely.

"Don't worry about me - I've prepped for this day since you sent me home. My body is a vessel for your desire - and our future seedlings."

Lost in translation - you get the general picture as they on their back, body displayed for your taking. Devotion engraved into their very being and supple flesh free of damage - this is all you've ever lusted for. The mortal body at your beck and call, captured in its purest beauty. You press forward - crying out in pure frustration and agony as your tendril glossing over its intended target. Rutting and huffing through desperate attempts - your follower guides through your eagerness and their own dire need, and angles themself properly beneath you - wind knocked from their lungs as you sink in at last.

Pushed to edge by every muscle contracting around you, and the sweet relief of finally, finally- obtaining an outlet for your insufferable heats - you howl in frenzied glee. Wasting no time, you start off at a brute pace - jowls snapping in rhythm to each slap of skin. Your follower mewls along with you, hands based on your torso - praying the entirety of the town below can hear your unity. Their stomach bulges with the outline of your tendril and they clench around you conjuring the swell of your young.

"Yes! Ah! My love - breed me! I've waited for this for so long. Take me as you. Give me your love, your young - anything, please!"

Their worship is cut short by the infiltration of your tongue down their throat. Choking as they did on your cock - their eyes dart back as you pin their knees to chest, steady on yours as you plow them into the makeshift bedding. The slick plap of their wetness dragging you back in and the suction of it drives you deeper with every grind. The lack of oxygen from your tongue altering the flood of air makes their muscles tighten further - ripping the first orgasm of the eve out of you as your talons pucker their flesh. Stilling momentarily - thoughts overload with the realization of your true purpose in this realm. Breeding every hole offered to you.

The smell of blood premonating your scents does little to waver the force and intensity of your release - years, decades of build up breaching as you slam against them - pursuing that increasing, staggering high. Your cum floods their hole - leaking around your cock and down their thighs. Rubbing your cheek against their head, you lazily fuck nearly every drop back into them as they twitch and spasm around you. The blessing of being the first real sacrifice to their God was tear inducing.

Your tongue pulls from their mouth, licking salty tears and saliva as apology for nearly asphyxiating them. Your follower gasps and pants, lips formed in conversation but missing the voice to speak. You slip out of them, fluids gushing from their stuffed hole. The sight causes another stir in your nether reigion. Picking them up like an oversized doll, you lean back against the tree as you lower them into your lap - this time being the one to guide your tendril into their greedy hole. Head rolling back, a hand shoots out to grab your horns as you rock upwards into them. Pleasure rocks your very core as they hold onto your sensitive mounts, hands climbing with each bounce. Your cock throbs as they eventually catch on and pour the remainder of their strength into rubbing every curve and bump of your antlers.

Mouth agap - the skin of their shoulder catches in your teeth. Having lost all restraint and repulsion in the stench you bite down, marking as they likely desired. An assumption proven seconds later as a scream tears out of them, body stuttering as they cum around your appendage. Your hand pads their stomach, adding surface for you to better fuck your squirming length into them. You take both of their wrists into your hands - slamming them back on your cock as you finish at the end of their peak - overestimating their shot senses as your length spasms against their fleshy walls. More of your spend leaks from them as you pull out which they shove back as you slump against the ground still cradling them in your arms. The ranger attacks your jaw and chest in kisses, warming your tendril with their thighs and rubbing their own sex against it. Your eyelids fall heavy, twinkling lights dimming. The ranger nestles into your chest - fatigue on the horizon but job far from complete.

"We'll be amazing parents someday. I'm so happy you chose me. Rest now - I'll take care of everything else from here on. Sweet dreams, Dear~"

A new scent - the smell of pine needdles in the winter. Winter - the season when you fell into a deep sleep."

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

The Divine, In which five boys have to navigate their daily lives while wielding divine power.

Current Stage - Writing as I please

Genre - Magical Boy | Superheros

Setting - Coastal town somewhere in the world

Synopsis - Human legend tells of five mystical warriors, chosen to wield the powers of light and darkness in order to protect the worlds from danger. No one knows where they come from, who they are, or where they go when all is said and done. 60 years have passed since they were last seen, and people are once more wondering if they’re real or simply a legend.

That is, until one day, strange monsters appear across the worlds, and the mystical warriors are born anew.  

And so, it is now up to five boys to keep the worlds safe from monsters, cultists, and an approaching deity of chaos. All the while dealing with the everyday struggles of being a teenager. 

Piece of cake, right?

Main Characters -

Rei Yamada, The Divine Sun : Dorky videogame nerd who did not ask for this. While he’s not good in social situations and prefers to keep to himself, he is great at strategizing, especially with his quick thinking and fast reflexes. He’s observant, sentimental, and clever. Andie Calinao-Fox, The Divine Twilight : Your number one hype-man. Does everything with good intentions, though isn’t always aware of people’s boundaries, nor their own. They’re supportive, enthusiastic, outgoing, and always happy to lend a listening ear. Timothy Murphy, The Divine Moon : Mysterious and stoic, or rather introverted and sleep-deprived. May appear judgemental and a little mean, but has a massive heart for friends, literature, and all things horrific. He’s witty, attentive, and protective. Nico Morales, The Divine Aurora : Dumbass sweetheart, and perhaps a bit of a stoner. With a polite and comforting demeanor, it’s easy to miss out on his constant state of stress and anxiety. Similarly, it’s easy to forget he’s a powerhouse. He’s helpful, generous, and hard-working.  Mike Chandler, The Divine Arcadia : Oldest in the group and takes that very seriously. Manages to somehow be both really smart and really dumb at the same time. Lives for the arts and never leaves the house without his sketchbook. He’s patient, reliable, and compassionate.

Themes - Found Family | Chosen one | Mental Health | Morality | Divinity | Humanity | Friendship | Light and Darkness | Self-worth | Brotherhood

Warnings - Violence | Cults | Kidnapping | Body Horror | Abuse | More May Be Added

What I Got To Offer ? Angst ! Trauma ! The good stuff ! Diverse cast (LGBTQ+, ethnicity, etc.), cool villains with distinct motives, dudes having magical transformation sequences, magical sidekicks (who may or may not last very long), endless shenanigans

Tags - wip : The Divine

: Taglist - @vacantgodling :

Let me know if you want to be added/removed !

[namelessandred]

**Fractal**

Be cautious when you are about to sleep, as there is a chance of accidentally entering the Fractal - a mysterious dimension where reality intertwines with nightmare. Legends say that those who find themselves inside encounter madmen who thirst to cleanse the world of "undesirable elements". Their chuckling penetrates the soul, causing blood to run cold, while decay and destruction surround every step. Fractal is emptiness where reality trembles on the brink of insanity, and walls made of nightmares slowly but surely close in on you. Beware of its alluring mystery, for the price of entry can be high.

In the depths of the Fractal lurk various entities, each representing its unique horror and threat. Among them is the mysterious virus named Fractoid. This insidious virus is capable of infecting the mind and decomposing the body, penetrating the deepest recesses of a being and turning it into a puppet of nightmares. Fractoid is like a shadow, a terrifying and unseen threat, lurking for those who dare disturb the long-lost balance in the world of Fractal. Its infectious abilities lead to catastrophic consequences, leaving behind only a chain of chaos and destruction. However, even in the face of such hopelessness and threat, there are those who dare to become guardians of portals and defenders of truth in the world of Fractal. Timekeepers, warriors of wisdom, and masters of time are ready to fight against the dark forces and explore the mysteries and chaos of the dimension. According to ancient lore, they alone can find the key to unraveling the secrets of Fractal and save the world from the endless nightmare that awaits those who dare to enter its abyss.

Every whisper, every rustle in the darkness of Fractal evokes horror and trepidation. Entities dwelling in this void take on various forms and possess supernatural abilities. Some are shadows that captivate the mind and soul, others are dark voices whispering curses. Among all the horrors of Fractal, Fractoid stands out - a virus born from the very darkness of the dimension. This insidious virus is capable of infecting the mind and body, penetrating the most hidden corners of a being. Fractoid takes on forms of nightmares and puppets of hell, sowing destruction and fear among those who dare to encounter it. However, even against the might and horror of the Fractal entities, there are those who boldly step beyond the threshold of the realm of madness. They are the Timekeepers, guardians of portals and protectors of secrets, able to withstand madness and gaze upon the terrifying truth of the world of Fractal.

**People**

**Cult of Fractals**

A mysterious and mystical cult characterized by its aspiration for harmony and wisdom in the world of Fractal. The initiates of this cult teach that preserving symmetry and balance in everything is the key to finally living in peace without fear for one's life. They promote the idea of unity and elevation of consciousness in the world, rather than destruction and chaos. Cultists believe that humanity can live in peace by adhering to the Rules of Peace, the rules of the Fractals.

**Madmen**

Former members of the Cult of Fractal who turned away from its teachings and transformed into ruthless killers. They consider humans parasites in the world of Fractal, setting themselves the goal of eliminating the world of people and restoring true balance and symmetry. They act according to their own laws of lawlessness, only for their vile mission.

**entities**

**Fractoids**

Deceitful and dangerous entities dwelling in the world of Fractal. This dark virus possesses unique abilities and sinister power capable of penetrating a being's mind and body, enslaving its mind and body. Fractoid takes various forms of nightmares and puppets of hell, sowing destruction and fear around it.

**Not full face**

A mysterious and frightening entity resembling a human, but with a distorted fractal face. Its appearance resembles that of an ordinary human, but the face of Nedolitsy is marked by traits of chaos and nightmare, creating an intimidating visage.

**Symmetrisher**

A mysterious and enigmatic entity that has the ability to distort space to restore symmetry. Its essence strives for harmony and balance in the world of Fractal, using its abilities to correct distortions and imbalances.

[rawliverandcigarettes]

Welcome to my Halloween entry for @citadelfashionweek 2021!!

I could not participate for the main event but I wanted to contribute for a seasonal spook! This is a concept that was born from worldbuilding thoughts while working on my coming fanfiction The Empire of Preys.

Meet the Vrejjeen! I feel like many cultures share archetypes that follow some primal anxieties, so I wanted to figure out what would the salarian equivalent to a vampire look like. She's a legendary monster whose name refers to the co-dependant union of a salarian female infected with a melufer leech, a parasitic lifeform that breeds inside small living creatures, overtake their brain functions and eventually kill them. The popularity of that myth peaked during the rachni wars, but she's still a common figure in horror/gothic media nowadays, and would make for a cool costume for salarians pumped about human parties and traditions...

I left more "lore" informations about the Vrejjeen under the cut in case you want to hear about that spooky girl.......

The Vrejjeen is an old folklore figure whose origins predate the phassen empires and have been lost to time (but its birthplace is believed to be situated inthe thick jungles surrounding the current city of Aztem in Nkoma).

The name roughly translates to the Auto-Parasite, and is used to describe a mythical figure and its associated legend: a salarian female, unable to have viable eggs, grows desperate about her own limitations and imperfect reincarnation and decides to look for a melufer leech and self-infect with it, in hope to strike a deal with its malevolent influence (some specific insects are considered a form of primal demons that intend to cause pain and humiliation to prevent salarians to ascend to higher states of existence, that can only be achieved through a form of betterment and closure during one’s lifetime). To satisfy the leech and translate the pact into children of her own, the salarian female must steal other females’ eggs and devour them. As she does so, the melufer leech is said to grow in power and influence, taking over most of the female’s spirit as it would take over the small animals it usually infects, and the Vrejjeen arises as this codependent and mystical entity. Once the Vrejjeen is capable of laying viable eggs, her offspring are born as husks devoid of spirits; they are a mere extension of the Vrejjeen’s will, incapable of independent thought and controlled by her schemes, stealing even more eggs to satisfy her endless appetite.

This legend made an unsurprising come-back as the Rachni Wars stalled into a gradual loss of territory and hope as young males were being enlisted to die one generation after the other. The rachni themselves were a natural parallel to the myth, and a resounding nightmare in a salarian population with a long history of preyhood with their local insect megafauna. Combined to the growing resentment of the general population against the phassen leadership at the peak of their dominance, the Vrejjeen became both a figure used for political critique (drawing a parallel between the casual sacrifice of salarian youth and the behavior of the rachni hive), and a rumored truth about the dalatrasses that were hated the most. Dalatrass Castol, who holds a strong claim as the most despised dalatrass of the Salarian Union’s history, was not only heavily rumored to be an Vrejjeen at the time, but is also still considered as such nowadays for niche conspiracy enthusiasts, cultists and lovers of horror fiction. While it is possible the Dalatrass performed ghastly rituals in the name of her own worship that may have involved eating her own eggs, the explanation of that behavior is probably more akin to extreme megalomania, unchallenged personality disorders and power than to the influence of demon-bugs.

Regarding the melufer leech itself: there is no modern evidence supporting the claim of the parasite being capable of controlling organisms of the scale and complexity of salarians’ bodies. While it is possible to get infected by a leech, and the experience has been reported very unpleasant at best and unbearably painful at worse, a salarian would die of infection or anemia long before feeling the effects of severe brain alteration or control over the nervous system observed in smaller amphibians, fishes, arthropods and mammals. The melufer leech acts solely on instinct to feed and reproduce and isn’t capable of complex alterations beyond general cravings and itches in a salarian victim. But due to the popularity of the myth, it has been reported that some females did inject themselves with melufer larvae in hopes to get a benefit to their fertility, despite the lack of proven causality between these two elements.

As both truth and fiction, the Vrejjeen figure was sometimes invoked when the civil wars overturned the phassen influence after the death of Dalatrass Castol, and female phassens were cursed with the title by those who wanted to kill them, their sons accused to be soulless husks. The purge of these empires was a violent affair, and many phassens were murdered as new orders took over their centralized governance: the symposium was born off an urge to maintain a safer and fairer control of the population over the resources and limit eugenist supremacy. The uprisings are, to this day, considered controversial; while most would agree the new governments to be incomparably better and the event to be a global good, some of the crimes committed during the purge remain uncomfortable to reckon with despise their importance in earning salarians freedom in the long run. To this day, depending on the local history, phassens are either respected as relics of past glory tragically wronged, or as wicked despots desperate to reclaim power that should be kept down at all costs.

The symposium governance is also directly responsible for the colonization and militarization of the krogans, as an alternative to the bloody toll taken on salarian youth for centuries. The move was widely acclaimed at the time as a modern, victorious decision to reclaim salarians’ lost dignity from the phassen rule; as a form of enlightenment that would guide the bright days to come.

[kettlequills]

ok so this was inspired by this post made by @argisthebulwark - check her blog out! - about dovahkiin soulmates that could feel each other's pain. naturally i ran with the concept of dragonborn soulmates. feat. my ldb laataazin/miraak.

Laataazin has always felt trapped. Before they are Laat-aaz, even, when they are a nameless prisoner, hands-bound, another to be executed through a simple whim of fate. No memories then in the buzzing darkness of their mind, but a feeling of fear, confusion, brief-dawning wonderment on the heels of hot green rage in the drumming space of their chest that was theirs-and-not-theirs. Breath hurting, unused lungs and trembling hands that will not grip round the hilt of the sword Hadvar tries to press into their hands like they know it ought. Like they know scars on their bodies – body, for there is only one Dragonborn, only one.

How dare, their mind rages, how dare the gods try to discard me.

These thoughts, these hungers, these fears, are surely Laataazin’s alone, clear as Masser’s moonlight in the dark sky.

They have known imprisonment, in the cold, whispering bowels of Dragonsreach dungeons, where Mephala murmurs maliciously in every iron bar and chiselled stone, hissing breaths dampening, soft and light as cobwebs falling upon a sleeper’s eye, sanity, safety, sight. Trying to tempt, twist, torment total truth from the prisoner-that-would-be-Laataazin, named Dovahkiin and wrestling the ashes of Mirmulnir into restless ebb. Oil-and-ink in Laat’s nose, and a will that is theirs-and-not-theirs, resistant, defiant, no more daedra than dragonfire, sings firm around Mephala’s words, like the thrum of earthbones a song that refuses to be a bound-and-fooled-slave again.

Don’t complain so much, says the thoughts-that-are-Laataazin, they’ll let you out.

Their dragon-soul, for it must be theirs, is loud, angry, knows their head. It refuses to be quieted, grumbles and snaps at the rolls and reams of papery scrolls the Greybeards set down in front of them, snarling answers in a mother-tongue Laataazin has never known, with the air of distant, impatient distraction, like wings brushing across planes. Laataazin is not much of a reader, puzzles through relearning letters in dusty texts that take bored moments to recall when their body slumps softening into slow sleep. They wake with understanding and vague, boundless frustration, dragon-words in dragon-soul that mutter about Stupid fools and their vapid teachings, you will never learn with these chains on your wings.

Laataazin meditates for endless hours on frigid snowcaps with Paarthurnax’s breath steaming the snow and still thinks of smashing skulls and bloodied steel, still thinks of broken wills and shattered spirits.

It is, they tell Paarthurnax, a losing battle. There is something in them that wants out, and it will stop at nothing, nothing, to claw itself free from the trap locked shut around its howling muzzle.

Mortality is a losing battle, Paarthurnax reminds them. It is their nature to beat against the bars of inevitability, and turn their faces from the grind of time.

Hypocritical lizard, the soul-that-must-be-Laataazin’s mutters, and Laataazin chooses not to share this or the smile it provokes.

Laataazin goes about their divine-driven hunting of twin-souled dragons, who speak to them in a language they know, who challenge them to fights they win, who know them and are stranger to them in a way that only the careless and god-flung may be. They do not want to kill the dragons that are like themselves, who look at the sky and see a glorious road untravelled rather than the distant god-realm for no mortal to cross.

Your soft heart will do us harm, their soul reminds them. Do not spare what hungers to hurt.

Delphine tells them that they are not bloodthirsty enough, that they accept the surrender of too many, and create surrender still where there is not even that. That there is no point sparing monsters, and that Laataazin has a duty, a destiny, a fate.

Laataazin tells Delphine and their soul both that they have chosen a different path. But Akatosh does not make the same mistake twice, and this time, there is no give in the leash of fate wrapped tightly around the neck of the Last Dragonborn.

Ushered by inevitability, they go to face Alduin, and within them their soul rants and raves for its freedom. Fate! Fate! The gods laugh at us.

In Sovngarde, they feel empty, empty. It is a dead place for dead souls, and there is no place for living ties in bodies that breathe and fates that twine. Laataazin’s chest feels cold and dim, unwarmed by so total an omnipresence they had thought it part of themselves. It is not, they know now. There is… something, someone, else.

Gormlaith’s golden hair shines like septims when she smiles at Laataazin, all bared teeth. I knew you would come around, she says, and Laataazin wonders which of them she is talking to, Alduin-that-is-Akatosh, or Laataazin-that-is-trapped. Like standing in a boxful of mirrors, making eye-contact with a thousand versions of an image, an icon, a legend, borne through the ages to consume itself.

It is done. Alduin returns to himself, and fate twirls the key to the shackles of its Last prisoner. Tsun drags their weeping body from the gate and casts it into the realm of air and sunlight, wordless in the face of their inappropriate grief. When Laataazin returns, staggering and coughing out their lungs onto the windswept emptiness of the snow-throat beneath the watching dragon-eyes, feeling slams back into them with all the force of a tidal wave. Pure, blistering rage, fanned so hot it can only be the most animal of panic.

Where did you go? demands the thing-that-is-not-Laataazin. Why couldn’t I feel you?

Laataazin presses their hand to their chest and feels relief, relief, vast enough to swallow the sun.

I thought I had lost you, the prisoner thinks.

Come to me, longs the other.

What force on Tamriel could resist a plea like that? To Solstheim it is and kneeling in the hot ash Laataazin feels the sky all around them open up and his presence close in like breath on their neck.

You are so much louder here, Laataazin tells him, their steps still wobbly from the boat.

You walk on my land now, Miraak replies, and what a wonder to know his name, to touch with travel-sore body land his own has walked, see with dust-stung eyes what his has seen. I grow ever nearer to you.

You did not need to enslave these people, Laataazin thinks at the Tree Stone, watching empty-eyed cultists and blankened reavers work on towering edifices of stone. The mumbling figures remind them of Sovngarde, that terrible emptiness where once a gnawing pain sat. I am here.

I did not think you would come. Miraak’s admission is grudging, a little bitter. But as Laataazin walks through the stone doors of the temple, they hear the clatter of tools dropping, and the shouts of startled reavers.

Laat grins, feels it mark their face wide and feral. Put your best panties on then, for I shall see you soon.

Do not keep me waiting any longer. His pain is audible in the bones that house their heart, his impatience like whips licking the soles of their feet, his eagerness like teeth to their neck. Laataazin opens the Book, and there he is.

“You are shorter than I expected,” is what the soul-of-their-soul tells them, towering over them, crowned in blue and gold like fearless god and dripping ink like blood.

“And you are as obnoxious as I predicted,” Laataazin says, but already they are approaching him, and he does not move away but flinches when their hands meet his chest.

They bear together his pain from centuries of untouched isolation, the nerves awakened by another that burn like needles and dragon-fire, and they bear together the pleasure too, found in smoothing gauntleted hands over thick robes, found in solidity, presence.

I would touch you like this everywhere you could bear it, then more, Laataazin thinks, and their hands come away inkstained when they lift them to cup the golden mask, which tilts, as if its wearer has flinched again at the thought whispered into the ear of his mind like a promise.

The prince that Laataazin favours most is not cunning Mephala who whispers to them in Whiterun, nor Hermeaus Mora, who believes himself masterful gardener of all, but ruby-red Sanguine, who with a gift of a loving if unconventional wife found in a night of revelry wins anew with each feathered kiss their loyalty. It is therefore Miraak who tears himself from this indulgence of touch first, and takes a few steps back. The words of fate are a well-settled cloak employing the ruthless machine of purpose.

“And so the First meets the Last at the summit of Apocrypha,” Miraak says, ringing, proud. “Tell me, did you enjoy the dregs of my destiny?”

“If you had not turned from your fate to kill Alduin, I would not have awoken,” Laataazin replies, dryly, “so to some extent, yes. To other extents, fuck you.”

“That same fate decrees you must die for me to win my freedom.” Miraak’s mask is expressionless, but Laataazin does not need it – they can feel through the glass of body-barriers the surge and roil of the infection of wounds thousands of years untreated, the bitterness, the fear. It has beat within their heart from the very first moment of their waking in Helgen, as their grief, their loss, burns like wildfires in his.

“Freedom?” says one prisoner to another. “What freedom is this? Aren’t you tired of being what they ask of you? Haven’t you paid the price?”

“Do you not feel how the world has warped around you since you awoke?” Miraak’s hand is tightening on his sword hilt, but he does not draw. “You cannot die, you do not sleep, you are not real, or you alone exist – there can only be one Dragonborn.”

“We will both be free,” Laataazin asserts.

“Time, and reality, would not survive us both,” Miraak says, but Laataazin knows their dragon-soul, and knows he is hungry, hungry, and tired of cages.

Boldly, Laataazin reaches out. Miraak takes their hand, masked eyes searching, like he is a man on open water clinging to the uncertain shelter of driftwood.

“That is Akatosh’s problem,” says Laataazin, “I choose to have you.”

[reivontulet-arch]

𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒚 / i drank every scar that i could ( immortal  )

the guardians had long been ostracized from society, constantly on the move to evade the cult of vitae and their manifest to kill guardian race. for generations they’ve moved around, hiding in the crevices of civilization, while carving their way into history. rory had been training to take up her role, finally, from her mother as guardian of the celestial triune when their hideout was found by cultists. they’d been blindsided, likely even betrayed, and rory prematurely ascended to her role when her mother was among the guardians who were slain. in a flurry of power and grief, she took the lives of those cultists, the first blood drawn in an endless ledger, a scarlet letter to mar her forever. 

one would have thought her display of power would have gained her respect among the elder council and other guardians in the community, but rather rory found herself constantly looking over her shoulder. she was volatile and unpredictable. her ascension was violent and for that, the council decided she was not worthy of her role. in the dead of night, rory escaped the community and out into the world, aided by her twin brother who she would never see again. alone in the world and far too young and naive, she’d been sheltered her whole life and now she’s hunted. 

she quickly comes to realize her powers make her a target for the greedy, and quickly she falls in hands of criminals who want to use her for her strength, and twist her into subservience. in the darkest of knights when rory finally fights back and nearly dies at the hands of her captors. she lets go of every inhibition she’s had on her powers, and once again watches those who meant her harm bleed to death. it’s on that night that she’s vowed to never trust humanity again. they were vile and greedy, and she was far too powerful to fall into their hands. 

the energy courses through her and slows the natural aging progress, soon she barely looks a year older in a decade. her immortality fuels her ravenous travels, and in every place she goes she leaves her mark in the form of an example made of the evil and wrong, in her own eyes. stories are spun of the deity of vengeance through time, folktales, nighttime stories, urban legends. she lives on, her power grows, but her sanity fractures with each life she takes and each decade she spends alone. she exists in the constant war of needing companionship and abhorring life and humanity and what it stands for. she has lost her way, lost sight of true beauty of life can be. she can only see the darkness and pain humanity’s wrought on their home, the home she was destined and meant to protect. so she’s taken to protecting it in her own, twisted way. 

in this verse rory is immortal, in that she ages but her aging is very slowed. her powers give her a heightened healing factor so she’s not easy to kill. 

this verse is very, very flexible to exist in any point in time. 

an alt fc for rory in this verse, depending on how much older she is, is r.achel w.eisz. 

in this verse, rory’s powers are at their strongest and most skilled. 

wanted connections: if your character doesn’t age throw them at me, i’m literally open to all and every dynamic. also perfect for any period/historical muses !!!

rory’s very guarded and very prideful in her own powers. she truly does see herself as a deity and it will take a lot to gain her trust. 

for vibes, listen to daffodil by f.lorence and the m.achine.

[demiel-kheiv]

Do you think love can bloom, even on a battlefield?

[ravnicaforgoblins]

Ravnica for Goblins

Ladies of Ravnica

Dungeon Masters running a campaign in Ravnica may start to notice a trend with many of the city’s most powerful figures of authority (or notoriety); they are largely women.

Whether this an intentional choice on the part of WOTC for gender equality or purely accidental, most of Ravnica is run by the ladies. Not only do we see equal numbers of each gender represented within each race, each class, and each guild (except the Gruul Clans for some reason), but even a large number of the Guildmasters are/have been female:

Isperia, Sphinx Guildmaster of Azorius Senate

Lavinia, (acting Human Guildmaster of Azorius Senate following Isperia’s death)

Aurelia, Angel Guildmaster of Boros Legion

Feather, (former Angel Guildmaster of Boros Legion)

Razia, (Angel Founder/Parun of Boros Legion)

Vraska, (acting Medusa Guildmaster of Golgari Swarm following Jarad’s death)

Kaya, (official Human Guildmaster of Orzhov Syndicate following death of Obzedat)

Teysa, (unofficial Human Guildmaster of Orzhov Syndicate follow death of Obzedat)

Trostani, Dryad Guildmaster(s) of Selesnya Conclave

Zegana, Merfolk Guildmaster/Prime Speaker of Simic Combine

Vannifar, Hybrid Guildmaster/Prime Speaker of Simic Combine

In addition to this, every Angel and Medusa on the plane is exclusively female, with no exceptions. What does this mean for DMs plotting a Ravnica campaign? It means in all likelihood you’re going to be working on more female voices than male, so get practicing. If you are born a girl, this will be easier for you. If you’re born a guy, you’ve got some work to do. Because if you want to take a hard stance against doing female voices in your campaign, you are likely depriving your players the chance to interact with some of the coolest, most badass NPCs in all of Ravnica.

Lavinia of the Azorius Senate is an icon for the guild’s ideals, a champion for the laws of Ravnica, and steward of Jace Beleren, the Living Guildpact. Everything Jace wants to do with his nigh-limitless power as the embodiment of Ravnican Society has to pass through Lavinia first. She dictates his schedules, official commandments, and public appearances. Most importantly, Lavinia ensures that the most is made of the limited time the frequently-absent Guildpact is around. She is harsh but fair. A great choice for when the DM needs to intervene to save the players.

Judith the Scourge Diva is the Grand Dame of the Cult of Rakdos, it’s most in-demand performer, and the last word on anything that goes on backstage. She has more to do with the day-to-day goings-on than Rakdos himself, as the hedonistic demon Guildmaster rarely attends performances and often spends weeks, months, or even years in his lava pit. She does most of the work while Rakdos claims the adoration of the guild’s fanatics, cultists, and performers. Dramatic, demanding, devoted, demented, and she’s got a thing for blades & blood. She is the closest thing to a ranking member of the chaotic guild of stylized hedonism and carnage that is the Cult of Rakdos. She can be reasoned with.

Massacre Girl is currently the Azorius Senate’s number one fugitive.

Real Name: Unknown

Guild: Rakdos

Allegiance: Herself

Motive: Unknown

Crimes: Murders in every guild, including her own

Signature: High body counts, high-ranking figures, excessive violence

Perks for PCs: Instant Citywide Notoriety for taking her in/down

Drawbacks for PCs: Almost Certain Death for failing to take her in/down

Teysa Karlov, former Grand Envoy of Orzhov Syndicate, currently imprisoned for attempting to overthrow Ghost Council. Teysa is one of the few members of the Syndicate who isn’t motivated by greed or self-interest. Make no mistake, Teysa is as ambitious as they come, but her interests actually extend outside of her guild. She is one of the only high-ranking figures within her guild who actually tries to establish relationships with other guilds. It has dawned on her that the day may come when the Orzhov Syndicate might require the assistance of the other guilds, so maybe, just maybe, they should try to not have every other guild actively despise them. A groundbreaking proposal, the first step of which involved the overthrowing of the Greedy Old Men, aka the Obzedat, and establishing her as new guildmaster. Unfortunately, Grandfather Karlov outplayed her, and both Teysa and her ally Tajic of the Boros Legion were thrown in jail. Tajic was bailed out, but Teysa remains imprisoned thanks to bribes made with high-ranking officials to keep her so. In addition, to keep her from dying and achieving freedom as a ghost, she’s been fed food to magically lengthen her life in prison. All that said, Teysa is the best ally available within the Orzhov, one of the few not morally bankrupt, and knows the laws of Ravnica better than even the Azorius. A perfect choice for a prison break quest.

Emmara Tandris is one of the most well-known faces within the endless bounty that is the Selesnya Conclave. She’s a childhood friend of Jace Beleren, the Living Guildpact, and a public figure for inter-guild cooperations. This, plus the fact that she is a kind & caring individual with a special gift with animals, fey, and elementals, and the fact that Selesnya’s dryad trio Guildmaster(s) Trostani are vague at best, completely silent at worst, makes her a perfect choice for distributing missions, quests, and animal companions.

Last NPC I’ll mention is Vraska, of the Golgari Swarm. Vraska is the Planeswalker Medusa Assassin Pirate Queen of the Undercity. Think of something cooler than that, I dare you. It doesn’t exist.

*Edit: More Kickass Female NPCs!

Etrata, the Silencer. That name alone should inspire fear. Not just a vampire, not just an assassin, she’s more of an urban legend Boros soldiers tell each other about when they get stuck on overnight guard duty and want to spook their buddy. Lacking the tedious mind games of most House Dimir operatives, Etrata is an old-school killer for hire. She cares neither for politics, nor influence, nor subtlety. Your name shows up in her book, you’re gonna die tonight. She’s the only Dimir agent capable of actually challenging Lazav for his position of Guildmaster. What it will come down to is this; is he smarter than she is deadly? Etrata is great because her exploits are much easier to track than other Dimir. If someone is dead from a vampire bite in a locked room, they’ve just had a visit from Etrata.

Izoni, Thousand-Eyed should honestly have been the Golgari Guildmaster. Not only is she infinitely more interesting and distinctive than the run-of-the-mill Lich Jarad Vod Savo, but she embodies the Swarm in a way Jarad just doesn’t. Scuttling by your feet, buzzing around the air, lurking wherever death can be found; Izoni and her ever-present insect swarms have presence. Jarad, on the other hand, has a bow, very little personality, and the only real accomplishment he’s had as Guildmaster is surviving assassination attempts. Which, let’s be honest, for the Golgari, is just par for the course. Izoni has room to grow, to expand, and she’s exactly the sort of cackling, nasty, power-hungry dark witch players like to fight. Except she somehow makes being covered in bugs hot.

Pierakor az Vinrenn D’Rav, better known as “Feather”, was the Boros Guildmaster before Aurelia, and a former Wojek Officer. Her wings were bound and she was forced to serve in the Wojek for some reason that hasn’t been explained, then when the original Guildmaster and Parun Razia was slain, Feather stepped up. Her reign was short-lived when Aurelia challenged her as unfit to serve as Guildmaster given her unspoken crime that she was charged for however long ago. Feather gave up the mantle and left Ravnica, going into a self-imposed exile in the lawless Red Wastes beyond the Rubblebelt. Basically, this means that there is a Guildmaster-Level NPC living all alone in the most savage wilds on the entire plane searching for redemption. The story is literally just sitting there, waiting to be written.

[emma-nation]

In My Veins (KamilahxMC) - Season 2 - Chapter 12 - *Ending*

Summary: Inspired by Lovestruck’s “Havenfall is For Lovers” (Antonio). Amy seems to finally have solved her feelings for Kamilah, but when somebody from her past returns, their relationship will be put to test.

Genre: Romance, Angst

Rating: T

Notes:

- NSFW warning. I decided to base their first vampire sex more on Havenfall’s scene rather than on Bloodbound’s. I thought it felt more realistic as MC was just starting to explore her new senses.

- I miss the Council Of New York. #RheyaNotMyLeader

- There will be a third part to this fic soon, after I conclude Within You.

- Sorry for taking so long. Life went from Heaven to Hell in only one week.

KamilahxMC Tag List: @iam-the-fuckin-queen​, @annabellewerecorgi​, @voltos9, @scorpistraub​, @leavemeandmyshipsalone​, @jen825​, @andreear17​, @spacecarrousel​, @justejuste727​, @aureliaxj, @graceschoices​, @sleeping-with-her06, @supersphynxsworld​, @gavryllo, @galaxyside-0, @msuhailey, @zoe6111, @noodledragon22​, @tigerbryn11, @shanuuh, @ilovetaylor13m, @honorablebicycle, @ilovekamilahsayeed, @allaboutchoices, @fal-carrington, @scarlet-letter-a0114

“I love you,” Kamilah bit her own wrist, letting a considerable amount of blood flow inside Amy’s mouth. She needed to be sure it was more than enough to bring her back to life. “You will be okay, Amy… you’ll be okay, I promise you.”

She pressed her lips to Amy’s cold forehead, then carefully removed the sword from the girl’s chest. As Kamilah observed the wound was progressively healing, she was placed inside the sarcophagus and taken to the basement. The less space Amy had, and the less contact she had with any sources of light, more were the chances her Turning would be successful.

Kamilah sat down and waited. She couldn’t think about anything. Her mind, as well as her body, was completely paralyzed and unable to process all the events she went through that night. Gaius was dead. For good. She had finally earned her freedom.

But so was Amy. Her Amy was also dead.

And sitting on an old wooden chair in the basement, six hours passed without her noticing. The watch on her wrist beeping announced it was time to open the sarcophagus. She pushed the lid open, ready to contain the first impulse of violence Amy would have when she first woke up as a vampire. But it didn’t happen. She was still lying unconscious, pale and cold. In the exact position Kamilah had placed her hours before.

Maybe in the middle of her stress she had miscalculated the time. She closed the sarcophagus again and decided to wait a little longer. She walked to the kitchen and opened a bottle of wine she found inside a cabinet, serving herself. Exhaustion was taking over her body but she didn’t want to sleep there, in the living room. She didn’t want to look at that horrid tree that Gaius had became. For some reason, she still could feel his presence inside it, watching her and desiring revenge.

Suiting herself at Adrian’s bedroom, Kamilah didn’t know how long she slept for, probably hours. Or even a whole day. When she woke up, her heart was pounding fast, anxious to check on Amy.

She was still the same. She wouldn’t wake up. She was dead. Truly dead.

For the first time in centuries, she felt completely desperate. After being unable to feel happiness or love for so long, Amy managed to bring it back to her life. She was her new chance of a redemption. Of leaving behind that past of blood and horror, where she helped to spread pain and misery to mortal’s lives. When Gaius turned her into her worst self, Amy turned her into her best.

And now she was gone. Forever.

Kamilah didn’t call anyone. Her clothes, soaked by Amy’s blood along with sweat, dirty and ashes, were starting to smell terribly. She got rid of them and spent the longest time under the shower, where she allowed the warm water to get mixed with the tears streaming down her face. Where no one could hear her intense sobbing.

Then, she grabbed one of Amy’s t-shirts inside her bags. The Legend Of Zelda. One of her favorite video games. One she tried to force Kamilah to play all the time. She smiled briefly, holding it tightly against her chest, and lied on the bed again, remembering the last moments they had together.

“I hope you’ve had time enough to listen, Amy. To know I love you. That will always love you. I don’t… I don’t know how to live in a world without you.”

Time was passing. She needed to reunite her strength and return to New York. She wanted to deliver the news to the gang in person. And then, there were Amy’s parents. When Kamilah first planned to kill her for her blood, she knew exactly how she would forge a sudden, lethal disease that took her life and tell them in the most formal manner as possible. She’d pay for the funeral expenses and offer them money in support. Now she had absolutely no idea how she was supposed to do it. How she could tell a family their only child was dead? She remembered of herself, when she received the news of her twin brother’s death. And how was she even going to introduce herself? Coldly and distant, as her boss? Or affectionate and supportive, as her girlfriend?

She had a lot to think and plan during her way back. Kamilah started by taking their bags back to the back seat of her car. There was only one thing left to pick up, Amy’s sarcophagus. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, when some loud noises, coming from inside the house pulled her back to reality.

———-

Amy woke up with her heart throbbing inside her chest. Her pulse felt strangely distant, yet she could hear the rush of blood in her veins like an ocean storm. Around her, only a silent, heavy and suffocating darkness.

“What…” she tried to move, but noticed she was trapped. “Where… This can’t be happening…”

Something poked her lower lip. Using her tongue, she could feel two pointy and sharp fangs descending from her gums. And there was the hunger. Nothing was so intense as her hunger. It was burning deep in her stomach. She needed to get out of there. And most of all, she needed blood. More than anything.

She twisted her hips and started kicking hard the sarcophagus lid. It was heavy, but she felt a whole new strength growing inside her. Her capacities were endless. She punched it as stronger as she could, send it flying. Sitting down, she examined her surroundings, noticing she was somewhere familiar…

“Please don’t find me… please don’t find me…”

Amy could hear Gaius’ footsteps approaching the basement’s in Adrian’s cabin. She glanced at her side, a small window could be her way out to the forest. Getting rid of cultists would certainly be easier than getting rid of the most powerful vampire on Earth. She tried to force it open, but it was too old and rusty, being completely stuck.

She was still at Adrian’s cabin, what probably meant… the basement’s door erupted open and Kamilah streaked down the stairs.

“Amy… you…” she looked at her in complete shock for a second, then a huge smile appeared on the corners of her lips. “You’re alive.”

She couldn’t answer. At the same time she knew exactly what was going on, she didn’t really know how to react.

“I’m a…” for some reason, she couldn’t say it aloud. The word got stuck somewhere along the way.

“I had to Turn you, Amy. It was my last resort, but I didn’t hesitate to take it. It was the only way. It was either Turn you… or lose you forever.”

Flashes of her fight against Gaius appeared in her mind. The excruciating pain as he buried a sword in her chest. Indeed, it was a fatal wound. No human being would be able to survive it.

“But the Turning didn’t take,” Kamilah continued, her voice crackling. “I don’t know why. I waited all day, but you were still gone. You stayed dead for almost four days. So I… I was ready to return to New York and bury you.”

There was a moment of silence between them. Kamilah helped her to leave the sarcophagus and took her to Adrian’s bedroom, where she offered her a goblet of blood. It tasted disgusting, but at the same time the best thing Amy ever consumed in her life.

“Holy hell,” feeling restored, Amy was finally ready to say it. “I’m a vampire.”

“Such poetic first words,” Kamilah smiled and cupped her cheek.

Their eyes met. She looked completely weary, but even more gorgeous than before. Amy was completely mesmerized by the new perspective she was able to have of those beautiful brown eyes, that perfect skin and her intoxicating scent.

“Kamilah,” she first tackled her with a hug, making her moan from the impact of her new uncontrolled strength. Then, she kissed her furiously and desperate, accidentally scraping her lower lip with her new fangs. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. These things… are sharp.”

“I’m not complaining.”

Amy kissed her again, licking the blood coming out from the shallow cut on her lips. She tasted and savored that blood. The blood that brought her back to life. The blood that was now a part of her, bounding them together more than ever.

“Kamilah, I don’t wanna be your friend,” Amy caressed her arms, her chest, her stomach. Feeling every curve of her body like she had never experienced before. “Actually, god, I want you in unfriendly ways right now.”

Kamilah’s eyes went red in desire, searching for her lips again. The contact between their bodies was furious, without no more fear of hurting each other. They tore each other’s clothes apart. Kamilah’s body was hot and boiling against Amy’s.

“Are you sure?” She asked, gazing deeply into her eyes. “Being a newly Turned, it can be quite overwhelming.”

“Yes, I want you,” Amy nodded, she had the same lust for pleasure, as she had for blood. She moved her lips to Kamilah’s neck, where she traced her pulsating veins with her tongue. Her hands pinned the older vampire’s wrists to the bed. When they stopped she realized the bruises she caused from how hard she grabbed her.

"Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine. You’re new, it’s to be expected.”

“How did you manage to have sex with me before?” Amy asked, intrigued.

“Very carefully,” she allowed Kamilah to take control, switching positions and kissing her in a slow, soft manner. Then, her hands moved down to her breasts, massaging them firmly and greedy.

“I-I…” Amy moaned. “I want you to touch me everywhere, just like this.”

“I’m going to do a lot more than touching. Trust me, we’re only getting started.”

Kamilah’s mouth started traveling down her body, kissing, sucking and biting all the flesh she had to explore. Her fingertips digging into Amy’s hips.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting all of this…”

And so did Amy. All those months they spent separated, she’d fantasy about that moment all the time. She missed Kamilah in every possible way.

Kamilah’s mouth descended to where Amy wanted it the most, devouring her. The first contact with her tongue, sent Amy in a spiral of pleasure and she quickly climaxed as if it was the first time in her whole life. She could barely breath. It was so intense she felt she was about to pass out.

“Maybe we should stop,” Kamilah suggested.

“No.”

She allowed herself to breathe and recompose herself for a few seconds, then she was ready for more. Kamilah looked at her, getting the message. She continued to work on Amy using her mouth and fingers, driving her to the most blissful and wild experience she had in her whole life. Her body was on fire. Her heart was about to explode. Electric impulses where making her thrash and squirm in pure ecstasy. But she never felt more alive.

When Kamilah lifted herself over her again, Amy didn’t hesitate to sink her fangs into her neck, drawing some blood. She arched back a little bit from the pain.

“Am I hurting you?” Amy asked.

“No, it’s fine. You need to learn how to control yourself. Easy, easy…” she stroke the girl’s hair, helping and guiding her into finding the perfect rhythm. “Just like this. And now, you stop.“

She hesitated and Kamilah firmly pushed her away.

“Enough. You’ve had enough.”

“It’s just… you taste, smell and feel so delicious…”

“Amy,” Kamilah gripped harder on her shoulders and gazed deeply into her eyes, “stop.”

“I’m sorry,” the girl apologized, returning to her senses.

“I think we both had a lot today. We should rest a little bit, before returning to New York.”

She pulled Amy closer to her chest, where she could finally relax, listening to the sound of Kamilah’s steady heartbeats and wishing they could stay like that for the rest of their lives.

“Amy,” Kamilah broke the silence. “I cannot express how grateful I’m for having you here with me. I thought I had lost you forever. I… I love you.”

“Kamilah…” hearing those three words made Amy’s new boiling emotions erupt into tears. “I love you too.”

———-

Back in New York, Kamilah and Amy entered Raines Corporation building holding hands. The group stared at the in surprise, noticing Amy’s new vampire aura. What they could never imagine was how her Turning had taken place.

“YOU killed Gaius?!” Lily’s eyes went wide in shock, before grinning broadly. “We stan a legend!”

“I suppose I did,” Amy said. “I’m sorry, Adrian. There’s now a… Gaius’ tree in the middle of your living room.”

“What?!” Adrian was caught up by the surprise. “H-How… well, I’ll ask someone to chop it down.”

“Guys,” Jax was staring at his cell phone screen with a serious look on his face, “let’s save the celebrations for later. The cultists groups are spreading chaos around the streets of New York. With Gaius gone, they’re in search of a new Master.”

“We don’t really have a break, do we?”

“That we don’t,” Kamilah rolled her eyes, after exchanging a glance with Amy. “Before we go, there’s one last thing, you need a Brand. Amy, do you accept to be a member of Clan Sayeed?”

“There’s nothing I’d like better!” The girl exclaimed.

Adrian nodded and took both of them to his office, where some sort of tattoo machine was kept inside a secret safe on the wall. Kamilah made a cut on her own palm, filling the machine with her blood.

“Are you ready?” She asked Amy, trailing her arm’s skin, where the Brand was supposed to be marked.

“Ready,” Amy swallowed.

As Kamilah began to work, she gasped and bit down her own knuckles. The pain was amplified by her new vampire senses. But despite the pain, there’s also a strange sensation of pleasure. Kamilah was focused on her task, and for a moment her eyes met Amy’s, burning and dark, hypnotizing and deep… As she inked her own blood into the girl’s skin, she could feel the connection, the intimacy between them growing in a level she could never imagine.

Once she finished, Kamilah set the machine down and wiped the tender skin around the Brand with a damp cloth, making Amy shiver.

“Was that so bad?” “No… it was just… a lot.”

She smirked and gently squeezed Amy’s hand.

“Welcome to Clan Sayeed, Amy.”

———-

Before they left the building, the rest of the members of the Council were requested to be present. Their help was necessary to contain the cultist rebellion.

“We have no choice,” Priya snarled. “Let’s kill them all.”

“It’s not that simple,” Adrian explained. “Some of them are human.”

“Who cares about some brainwashed mortals? They’re drawing attention to us! Even the government is getting involved. Adam’s no longer around to clean up the mess, remember?”

“Yeah,” Lester agreed. “I don’t know about you, pal, but I’m not going to flee because of some masked human freaks.”

All their eyes turned to Amy, as soon as she joined them in the lobby. For a second, she felt uncomfortable.

“What is that?” The Baron narrowed his eyes and approached, like a dog sniffing for fresh meat. “Is she a vampire now?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Amy asked, crossing her arms.

“Kamilah Turned you without permission, she violated the pact. I guess that after we get rid of the cultist scum, we’ll have to deal with you both.”

“Do not forget I saved your asses from Gaius. I killed him by myself, when even all the six of you couldn’t.”

Lester whistled from the other side of the room.

“I like ‘em tough. You definitely have my aye vote, lady.”

“That was kind of hot,” Priya grinned. “I couldn’t care less about you being a vampire. At least now I don’t have to worry about breaking you.”

“You’re outnumbered here, Baron,” Amy told. “Deal with it or… sit your punk ass down.”

The entire group broke into laughs, annoying the male vampire deeply.

“Your…"

He was about to advance in her direction. Red eyes and fangs drawn, he pointed a gun to Amy’s chest.

"Stop,” she ordered. “Just stop.”

He stood frozen in place. Like a statue. Unable to move or to proceed with his actions.

“Y-You… What the hell are you doing? Set me free!”

“I did nothing! I just…"

As Amy involuntarily jerked her hand, she sent The Baron flying away across the lobby.

"Oh my god!” She yelled. “What the…”

“S-She…” The Baron stood up, completely shocked and even a little bit scared. “She has his powers. She can control us! How’s that even possible?”

Amy searched for Kamilah’s face, expecting answers, but she was so confused as all the rest of them. The girl stared at her own hands, wondering if the Turning had triggered the powers Jameson was referring to in the dungeon.

The building door’s opened again and a large group of cultists started marching inside, kneeling in front of her.

“Our Lady,” one of the announced. “She’s finally back.”

“No!” Amy screamed. “I-I’m not Your Lady. Just stop. Go away! All of you! Leave me alone.”

And just like that, they started leaving the building one by one, until only the Council members remained, staring at her in complete surprise.

[mrneighbourlove]

Evil’s Bane: Ch 9. Everyone has Something to Lose

The wrath that filled Leere was unfathomable. Separated from her allies, she had no reason to believe that they might still be alive. Everything in Inferos and the Tower of Death had pushed her limits so quickly. Time felt off and she had no grasp of her spacing around her. Was she in the middle of the tower, transported close to the ground, or not even in it anymore? The very least she could process she was in what looked like a massive hall. It held rows and rows of pillars from the ground to the roof, and down each end it appeared the room was endless. About a couple fields of distance away, there was a massive obelisk, illuminated by the moon piercing its light through very large glass windows the size of small fields. Using her staff as a cane, she ventured forward, wondering if she could use the Obelisk as a magical conduit to bring the entire tower down.

"So you finally arrived." A smooth voice called out from the dark. Destroyer was there in the endless hallway, standing in the Obelisk's shadow. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd show up at all. Aren't princesses taught to be on time?"

Leere stopped walking, her staff echoing far as she planted her hilt into the floor. “Perhaps. But a Sage is never late or early. They arrive precisely when needed. And they hate cliches. Such as the Dark Lord waiting at the top of his tower.... step in the light.”

"Now, now, you should know that family sometimes share traits, especially since my brother loves to make an entrance... or more specifically, his host." Destroyer was actually not so terrifying. He was beautiful; an array of scales that reflected the various colors of the ocean. Two navy horns sprouted from his head which was coated in silver hair, and a pair of blue wings adorned his back. He was a long, lost creature of legend... a Drakkan; the fabled half-dragon, half-human. A long tail flicked behind him as his clawed, raptor-like feet gently touched the steps as he descended to Leere. "Though I'm sure that I am not what you expected. There was a slight... well... mix-up with our hosts, you see."

“Is that right?” Leere was alarmed by the appearance at first, but then steeled her will. Appearances after all could be deceiving. “Is it because you deserve the title of a snake who slivers in the dark?”

"Very perceptive of you." Destroyer chuckled, very amused by her expression. "You see, thanks to Tzitzimime, I obtained the host everyone adored; an innocent healer of his kind." He then held up one hand. "Then my dear brother inherited the host who everyone would fear and abhorred; a snake who would devour and use others."

“I’ll ask this once. Why? Why join forces with the Devil? Because you feel so hurt and alone at the loss of your long-lost love? Is that why you want to destroy this world? You can’t mature and grow up like everyone else in the world?”

"Oh, trying to get all psychological on me? Make me feel guilt? Admit my mistakes and repent? Perhaps I should reflect upon these actions... yet, I care not for the opinions of a meager human." Destroyer pretended to be offended, clutching at the center of his chest. "My only goal is to be rid of everything my brother created. When he is gone, when his creations are gone, then it shall be just Kaksa and I. No more interruptions, no more work, nothing but the void and us. Tzitzimime can have this little planet for all I care."

Leere looked at him with contempt and fury. “Then that makes you the most dangerous being I’ve ever encountered. Your insanity dooms all of life. For my family, my country, and all of life, I’ll do what I must.”

Taking a battle stance, Leere activated the blade on her scythe. Her staff she gripped glowed a soft red, and the plasma of her blade shined a mighty blue. Both colours basked her image with a fierce light.

"Oh, why do you look so worried, 'tiny princess'?" Destroyer mocked Leere with the title that Bonegrinder had given to her. "Surely you must know that the Mortuus aren't of my brother's work. Your kind are the result of Tzitzimime trying to sow some of his seeds in one of my creations. Tempting them, warping them... making them better. I quite enjoy the madness and bloodlust." He then snickered when she took an offensive stance. "You think you can defeat me with a gardening tool?"

“I will defeat you. And I’ll take your head too.”

Leere’s eyes filled with bloodlust and she began her first strike. With a swing of her scythe, she charged a sickening red energy, throwing an energy slash at him. The blast missed when Destroyer ducked, but it cleaned right through the obelisk like it was a bullet traveling through butter.

"Impressive for a human that earned the title of Shadow Sage." Destroyer glanced at the ruined Obelisk. "Now, it's my turn." The deity only had to touch the ground with his hand and the floor started to disintegrate. His objective was to bring Leere closer, putting her in a difficult position.

Leere ran forward, hopping from tile to tile. He wanted her to get close? Fine. But she’d make him see that only made her more ferocious. As she drew closer, she summoned a wall master from behind him. The flying fist struck Destroyer in the back of the head. As he was off balance, if only for one second, Leere drew in close enough to make a clean cut across his chest. The plasma of the scythe burned incredibly well against her opponents’ skin.

Plink, plink, plink... a few scales scattered across the tile, sounding like falling coins. Following another cut, flesh fell with a wet plump on the floor. Yet, the Destroyer was hardly fazed. While effective, he simply stood upright, his body healing. The God could push through any pain, for he had no fear of feeling it. It seemed he possessed that same ability to heal his host, just like Prama did for Bonegrinder. Both of the brothers refused to let their host die until their work was complete. "Didn't your mother teach you any of her wisdom?" Destroyer sneered at the princess with a sinister grin. "In battle, aiming for the head is the most affective move... yet, here, that wouldn’t help you anyway." With his giant wings, Destroyer gave a mighty 'whoosh' of wind and knocked Leere backwards, before purposely grabbing the burning scythe right on under the blade, spinning her around with it, and slamming her down three times against the tile floor.

Leere felt her head spin and blood spurt from her mouth. He was just like her brother. She doubted that even if she had a bomb, she could kill him. Klinge couldn’t do the same to Bonegrinder. So that left Leere with one option. The one thing she knew that she could affect Bonegrinder with, so maybe it could work against this prick. Blood magic. Grabbing his arm, she immediately started to leech him best she could. “Die you Bastard.”

"Ah... blood magic. One useful thing that I managed to pull from the discarded shadows of my brother." Destroyer's movements were suddenly slowed, fighting against her control. "Unlike you, though, 'tiny princess'... I am not alone."

“You are the one alone. You’re a pathetic pile of death worshiping garbage! What’s the matter? Scared of dying? Like all of the people you want to erase?”

Both hands of hers reached up to squeeze up around his neck. She had to focus. Even if it meant sacrificing her life, she’d snuff the life out of him.

"Heh, the Goddess Zarazu would love it if I did worship her but she has the God Ba'puu to do that." As Leere reached for his throat, he then said, "You can try to kill me, it won't work... though, I'd be more concerned about Tzitzimime.I think he has something of yours."

“...What?”

Suddenly, a tentacle with a blade tip stabbed from behind Leere and through her stomach. It wouldn’t kill her, but it was enough to stop her concentration on the Destroyer. Now that her hands dropped to her side, he could clamp his own around her throat. The Shadow Man whispered behind Leere, planting a finger on the back of her head. He drained her of magic, leaving her powerless. “Take her. The ritual will begin with her suffering and torment.”

Leere’s mind went fuzzy, and her body fell into the arms of the Destroyer as if she was some poor roofied girl. “N-no. Bonegrinder....” The Shadow Man grabbed her scythe, impressed by its build. “Think I’ll keep this. Top of the tower. The little meat bags are waiting for you to put her in place.”

"Now, now, why are you calling for the host of my brother?" Destroyer asked the princess with a snide chuckle. "After all, he tried to warn you and you wouldn't listen. We can sense each other, you see, 'tiny princess'. He desperately wanted to save you, but now... he's as trapped as you are." When the chaotic deity gave his order, Destroyer unfurled those huge wings and started to fly to the top of the tower. "You should have listened to him while you had the chance."

~

The section of tower Bonegrinder and Black found themselves in was eerie. The hallways were slimy, with hard black walls that were very nest like, as if they were shrunk down to a wasp’s catacomb. This flesh was growing over what used to be a metal hallway. The only light sources were windows still uncovered, moonlight still peaking in.

Black was sure that Bonegrinder would be furious with him for not choosing to go to Leere. Yet, the woman made her choice. She wanted to try to save some of these already damned souls. Personally, Black was beginning to question her sanity as well. True, Bonegrinder had his moments, but at least he admitted he was somewhat insane, mainly due to two souls sharing one body. Leere was... something else. Fortunately, Bonegrinder was still alive and well, but... out of his rational state of thought, mumbling to himself. The Wraith was certain he could hear Prama's whisperings, trying to help the Anagari get a grip but failing to do so. What the Wraith did not know was what Bonegrinder was seeing... the corpses of his family.

In the not too far distance, someone stumbled out of a door. A Mortuus cultist, walked a few steps forward, until finally his top half fell backwards as his legs fell forward. Something had cut him in half on the other side of the door.

"Bonegrinder, you need to come with me." Black had knelt down beside of the Anagari, trying to get his attention. "Leere will require our aid if... she's not already dead, but we need to get out of here. Destroyer is very close and... I believe that Tzitzmime is as well."

Bonegrinder did not even hear Black. All he heard was the words of his deceased family. His daughter with her birdsongs. His son requesting to go hunting. And his beautiful wife... his Brightscales, as he once called her... was asking why.

Voices whispered out to Black, as if the tower itself was taunting him. ”You can’t save her. She’ll make us whole.”

The Tower of Death could feel its purpose about to be realized. The walls had glow of red go up and down its walls. Suddenly, the corpse that was collapsed not too far away quickly mutated into one of the ghouls seen before. Hissing, it sniffed the air, until it saw Black and Bonegrinder. Angrily, it clawed its way back into the way it came, as if wanting to escape them.

THWACK!!!

Black cut off the head of the ghoul quickly, so it would not go and find friends to bring back later. Prama, meanwhile, was fighting like mad to Bonegrinder. Between all the suffocating darkness and using much of his magical excess to heal the Anagari, the deity was struggling.

"You big, fat, lump of flesh, get your scaley ass moving! Modoc!!! Move it!!! Leere needs you!!! Black needs---oh thank me, he's here."

Black tried again, moving the Anagari's head to look at him. "Bonegrinder, come on, you can't let old ghosts haunt you! What happened back then was not your fault!!!"

Behind the door, Black could hear someone hacking apart more ghouls.

"...? Hades? Is that you?"

No answer. Just droplets hitting the ground. Followed by a thick splat.

On the other side, Bi-Hanzo was still trapped within his own personal hell. He learned the “truth”. He could see it with his own eyes. And it was all so, so terrible. Grasping a map off a wall, he was reading it carefully. As one last remaining ghoul grabbed his leg, he lurched back. With a quick kick he knocked its head right out the door.

"... Hanzo?" Black did not expect the man to make it this far alive. While his magical talents were impressive, many others of the 'good' Mortuus had succumbed to these monsters.

Bi-Hanzo didn’t hear him, tearing papers off a wall and rummaging through them. “It’s all connected. They have every location of our villages down to the coordinates. Our bodies. They’ve been kidnapping and harvesting our bodies. For what? For this tower? For their precious gods?!!!” The man sounded unhinged.

"That's an easy answer, it's because these people are demented and Tzitzmime is their deity." Black was not in the mood for a mental breakdown at the moment. Once more, he tried to rouse his master. "Bonegrinder, please, we need to leave. This place is getting fouler by the minute and I am concerned for all of our sakes.”

When Black turned to go back to his master, he paid for his lack of human understanding. A massive block of ice encased his body from behind, and Bi-Hanzo brought his attention to Bonegrinder. “You. This is just as much your fault as Destroyah! You vile god of creation.”

"....!!!" Black was not expecting for Hanzo to turn on him. The ice trapped his movements momentarily, but he was able to slip his physical form into the shadows to break free. Before Hanzo could touch the Anagari with his magic, Black had shot out from behind the man, getting him in a headlock. He held a blade at Hanzo's throat. "Try that again, and it will be your head rolling."

Bi-Hanzo had more then enough time with Black’s threat to turn into mist, and phase through him. Solidifying behind him, he thrust his arm forward, using physical contact to steam Black’s body to a boiling point. As the Wraith swiped at him, Bi-Hanzo broke off. Taking a stance, the guardian was ready to kill. “No. I will take yours.”

Black underestimated exactly how much magical knowledge Hanzo had. He yelled when the steam scorched his skin and leapt backward from the Mortuus. This man was trouble. He should have killed him earlier.

"I've lived lifetimes. You're a child compared to me." Black growled at the Mortuus. "You will not touch my master."

“I’ve killed plenty of undead and mad Echidnans. You’ll be no different.” Cooling the air, Bi-Hanzo fired off large icicles at Black, but in the direction of Bonegrinder.

"I'm not an undead and I'm not an Echidnan. Not fully, at least, of either..." The Wraith managed to deflect the shards of ice and kept a defensive stance. Nothing would harm Bonegrinder, not while he could still roam this earth. He stomped one foot to the ground, causing the shadows to shift underneath Hanzo, latching onto the man. "You won't win."

“I’ll kill you both! You’re a follower of the fallen god Proxamus! He only creates suffering!” Struggling off the shadows, Bi-Hanzo froze the floor underneath them. Slamming his fist on the ground, more bladed icicles shot upwards to stab into both Black and his master.

Black reacted quickly enough to swallow Bonegrinder in the shadows and spit him out, but did not possess the energy to avoid the ice spikes the same way. He managed dodge most of them, but was still sliced by the frost. The Wraith was done with this nonsense. Maneuvering through the ice, he blinded Hanzo with one of his flash bombs before sinking the sword into the man's heart. "I serve no one but Bonegrinder."

Once again, on instinct of being blinded, Bi-Hanzo turned himself in a mist form. If he could see an attack coming, he could avoid the damage. Stepping away from Black, he rubbed his eyes as he solidified. “You serve the God of Creation trapped in flesh. He could save my people, but he only cares for himself! Kenshi. Lang. All the others. I will avenge them!!!”

Ranting, Bi-Hanzo kept put up a solid wall of ice between himself and his targets. Only in his mental struggle, their were a few openings now. Suddenly, as if a spell ended over him, he gripped his head. The image of Black and Bonegrinder was groggy behind the ice. “... Wait. What’s going on? My head....”

Black saw that Hanzo was distracted. He took this as a chance to strike. Throwing his dagger at the man, the Wraith hit Hanzo right between the eyes.

Black gasped, stumbling backwards. The dagger didn’t pierce enough to kill him outright, unable to reach his brain. But none the less he screamed. “W-what are you doing?!?!”

"You attacked my master and myself, I should be asking you, you damn idiot!"

Parts of his body were solidified, others were misty, such as his head. It didn’t look like he’d last long. “I what? Oh god. Oh god not yet.” The ice wall broke apart, starting to turn into vapour, another sign of Bi-Hanzo dying. “Where’s the sage?”

"If I knew that, why the hell would I tell you?" Black stood over Bonegrinder, hoping the snake would be rousing soon from his nightmares.

“She was right.” Bi-Hanzo’s breakdown was starting to come back to the man. Pointing at a map in the room over, he breathed heavily. The knife had fallen out when his head turned to mist, but the blood was still pouring down his face. “There’s a map with our villages. If you gave a damn, you could save them before...” His eyes slowly widen, as if he came across something truly horrible. “Oh no. They have her. Spirits save us. Can you hear them? Taunting us? They have her.”

"You are wrong in assuming that I would care about the people who once hurt the only person who gave a damn to help me." Black watched as Hanzo started to fade into nothing. "It's hard to feel guilt in this state. If you're worried about the Shadow Sage, then pray to your fallen god to save her. Or for a miracle. I'm no god."

“Please. You must.”

Suddenly, from the darkness, a monster as large as Hades stepped out behind Bi-Hanzo. It was a creature with a head of six bulbs for eyes, legs as thick as tree trunks, and six clawed arms protruding from its body. To be blunt, it was the most alien looking thing Black had ever seen. The man turned to it, in an almost suicidal trance. “An Angel...”

It looked like he was about to hug it. That was when the Abomination stabbed into his body, it’s arms sharper than any blade Black held on him. Bi-Hanzo was shredded as if he was simply a pig for the slaughterhouse. This would be a good moment to run.

"...!!!" Black stilled, feeling a sense of absolute dread wash over his being. How could he fight this... this thing? It was not a creature he knew how to kill. Was it a hellspawn? It had to be; he knew of nothing else it could be.

"... Modoc..." The Wraith muttered under his breath, eyes wide and trying not to make any sudden movements to agitate the monster further. "Wake the fuck up or we're both going to get eaten."

Inside of Bonegrinder's head, the Anagari floated in a void. He had withdrawn from his physical surroundings and was trapped inside of his own mind. There, Prama was suspended in front of him, in all of his glory. The Maker, the creator of all light and creatures of it, tried to console, Bonegrinder. "You cannot give up yet, Modoc. There is still much to do and to be done."

"He is so tired, Prama, so tired. Please, please let him sleep the eternal rest and be with his family again. Let him die."

"And what of your precious friends? The ones you call your 'children' and look after?"

"They will all be fine."

"What of Leere?"

"The tiny princess no longer listens to him. She will not listen now."

"She is in danger. Will you not help her?"

"How can he now?" The Anagari looked so defeated. "If he goes, you will be at risk. Without you, the world will descend into madness. If he stays away, Chaos could become whole sooner yet either way, the prophecy will be fulfilled."

"If Chaos forms into a whole from a fragment, then everything could be lost. This world, myself, and Kaksa. I do not want to risk her... would you want to risk your beloved Brightscales?"

The Anagari's eyes narrowed. "Don't call her that. That is his name he gave her, reserved for him to call her alone."

"Would you?"

"... no. He would not. He could not imagine it."

"Then you need to wake up and go."

The Abomination made no hiss, no scream, no roar like any of the ghouls or cultists in the tower. It simply strolled up to Black calmly to tear him piece to piece.

Black stood his ground, ready to fight... yet before he could, Bonegrinder's massive tail thwacked the Hellspawn away from the Wraith. Surprised, the Wraith did not expect the Anagari to recover so soon. "...?! Bonegrinder?! Are you---"

"He will be fine. We must find Leere. We've not the time to deal with this thing."

The Abomination cracked its neck back into place as it picked itself up from the ground. With the pace of a silent killer, it kept walking at a modest speed towards them, all its limbs ready to grab the next tail or person that drew too close.

"Do you have enough reserve to use your shadows to move us to her?"

"That... would be a stretch. But I will try."

"Then do so."

With that... the two disappeared from the shadows.

The Abomination nearly missed grabbing them. No matter. The Tower of Death had a mind of its own. It had to keep Bonegrinder and Black away from Leere. And it would send its Angel in the right direction to catch them once more. Nothing good would escape this hell.

________________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/626629526442655744/evils-bane-ch-8-looming-dread

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/626631967066243072/evils-bane-ch-10-evil-anew

[dreadjim]

#weeklythemedart 2nd imaginary god I designed comes from 1 of the Horseman of apocalypse inspiration, guess who? This ties in neatly too to my #nephilimchronicles ip set in the ancient ages before The Great flood. Covidia the Dusk Bringer, a name whispered in whimpers and sadness amongst folks in the deep realms. Hailed as the god of eternal night, worshipped mostly by cultists and fallen priests, Covidia was reputed to be a betrayed priest, who have fallen into sickness and murdered by his beloved, he allegedly was raised by necromancer who did not know the evils which revived alongside this husk. The Duzk Bringer is the scourge of light, its vile visage sets upon frail communities plagued by fear, low life force and the poor in spirit. Its visitation brings excruciating turmoil, isolation and pestilence to the grounds it haunts and it delights in savouring both death and loss of hope. It can appear as a man in black robes or take on a collasal form of foul spirits slowly trudging through the nights, which seems almost endless. In the old realms, fortunately, Covidia is seldom manifested or seen, but men of renown trembles at its name. If there's anything that drives this old 'god' away, it is hope, resilience and power of a triumphant spirit. News and facts turn to legends , legends become nothing more than mere myths and fiction. Next up is the challenge and inspiration from a mystery guest, let's find out soon! #dreadjim #Illustration #mythical #death #monsterdesign #nephilim #falsegods #demigods #conceptart #covid @affinitybyserif (at Singapore) https://www.instagram.com/p/CBfut3AjCO7/?igshid=1kuk17fpe2uxx

[ticktockstuck]

The Magician of Heart

Powers: Identity Theft and Redistribution. The Magician of Heart has the inherent ability to "trade" personalities between different living things by merely touching them with any part of their body. This firstly allows the Magician to exchange the identities of two or more different persons, and secondly allows the Magician to exchange bodies with anyone of their choosing. This ability exists with the Magician’s original personality and will transfer over to any body they inhabit (their original body will be powerless for a time when it receives a new mind).

Once the Magician of Heart has split their body and soul, both halves will begin uncontrollably using unique latent powers. Their original body will corrupt its new soul in a prolonged state of psychological conditioning until its soul exactly resembles the original Magician, in the process completely forgetting its prior state of being. Upon completing its transformation this new soul will gain the full powers of the Magician of Heart. At the same time, the presence of the Magician’s soul will begin to transform their new body into a near-perfect match of their old body. No matter what body they place themselves into, from insect to amphibian to glass-bodied, they all must undergo the process of becoming the Magician’s new body: skin breaking and convulsing on their frames, bones breaking free and expelled from the body like pus, and organs inflating and elongating into the Magician’s serpentine form. When all is said and done, the world will have to contend with an additional Magician of Heart who will continue to multiply themselves.

One exchange with the Magician will lead to two new Magicians, two Magicians can create four, four can lead to sixteen, sixteen leads to over three hundred, and so on and so on ad infinitum until individual identity itself has been scrubbed away from the universe. Every planet from the Magician’s homeworld of the Land of Clay and Tar to the streets of Tick-Tock Town will become a sea of worms endlessly fighting and stealing each others’ forms to stake a claim as the one true Magician of Heart. This worlds-wide writhing mass will mark the end of the Magician of Heart’s performance, a disappearing act with every former soul in the universe unwilling assistants.

Notes:

In addition to its endless duplication through soul distribution, the Magician of Heart is a master imitator and upon using their powers to move a soul it can roleplay as that soul to such a degree it becomes impossible to notice it in a new body until physical transformation begins.

The Magician of Heart is a mortal being and can be injured and even killed through conventional means. The difficulty in doing so comes from the ease with which the Magician can escape from danger, either by swapping identities with their attacker, using its serpentine form to slip away from the threats, or slinking away to lick its wounds and recover over time.

The cultists of the Land of Clay and Tar whose idol of choice is the Magician of Heart tell legends that their god has a handful of individuals it will not under any circumstance overwrite with its powers. None of them are described in terms that would help pin their identity, nor are their (probably poor) fates described once the Magician becomes a hellion ocean.

[demiel-kheiv]

Took me all yesterday evening but heres charts of all leader colors from Endless Legend (standard colors edition)

(colorblindness colors - here)

(Endless Space colors - here)

if you for some reason need all those full screenshots (for refs or just interested) - you can find them here

[maxwalkalot]

Novembrew 15: Necrosavant

For some, death is something to be avoided at all costs. For others, it is a subject to be studied and experimented with. While nature dictates that we all meet death at some point, some refute this fate and instead search for ways to sustain themselves eternally. Necrosavants are those who have found out a solution to eternal life, but have paid a terrible price.

An ancient curse. Cults praising death are not uncommon, but years or even centuries ago one of these groups discovered a way of sustaining life beyond its natural limits. Using foul rituals involving human sacrifices, blood drawing and other occult rituals, these decadent cultists advertised their discoveries to the rich, sages desiring more time for research and those attached to their material trappings. However while these people lived longer, as time went on the magic and years gnawed at their minds, stripping away their humanity and turning them into blood thirsting fiends.

Longing for blood. While some of the rituals have survived to this day, most necrosavants have turned to feeding on the living to sustain themselves. While some isolate themselves, ashamed at their fates and survive by feeding only when they have to, others relish in their newfound unlife and supernatural power. These are the ones that give necrosavants their fearful reputation.

Unlikely sages. While many think of a bloodthirsty and terrifying beast when they think of necrosavants, the ones that live in peace or a hermit like existence can be fonts of ancient knowledge and lore. Although they are extremely locate because of their elusive nature, such a necrosavant can be convinced to share their knowledge for a price. This might be some blood or life force, or perhaps help in finding a cure for their curse.

Undead nature. A necrosavant does not require air.

Another battle brothers monster, this one was actually one of the first I though of doing though after the initial splurge of battle brothers creatures at the start of November, I waited until now to post it.

For the nonmagical damage resistances, I was considering replacing silvered weapons with copper, somewhat inspired by the demons in the Forbidden Lands TTRPG. I decided against it, going instead for a more ‘classic’ approach. However if I run this in a campaign, I think for sure I will be replacing silvered weapons with something different like copper or bronze.

I also need calling this a necrophage, after the faction in Endless Legend. Which reminds me, that game exists. So I might homebrew some Endless Legends stuff.