#regill derenge x minovae arangeir

[silversiren1101]

A necessary expense, for the continued good health of the Crusade... and its Commander.

“That was... unexpected--Not that I’m complaining! I just would have thought even the war-room to be a risk in your mind, empty or not.”

“You seemed about to tear Konomi limb from limb in that meeting. I thought it best I intervene as your lieutenant before you cause a diplomatic incident elsewhere.”

[Commissioned from @tench-art and possibly one of my absolute favorites~]

[arrow90-art]

A thank you gift for @silversiren1101 !

Mino is special to me, if not for you and her I might still not have an active Tumblr account, and wouldn't know we have such an amazing community! I'm grateful to be here and have all of you as friends! Thank you! ^^

[silversiren1101]

One might be surprised to see such proud Hellknights outside of their armor, even for the special occasion. Another more trained eye would spot just the barest hints of glamour.

No specific story with this one except I imagine they're attending a wedding, and Minovae is living the dream of being a bridesmaid for someone very special to her!

[Comm from @haunteddollco I really adore how it came out thank you so much ❤️]

[silversiren1101]

Decades may have passed - almost a century, even - but that mote of pride for the way his old friend and subordinate had grown a knack for leadership sparked in him regardless. How far she'd come from arguing against a title she felt she hadn't earned.

[Comm from Reparatus!]

[silversiren1101]

Tis the day - happy Valentine's Day! From my most special blorbos to yours, treat yourself! They most certainly are!

[From my ever favorite and beloved @kit-n-kamoodle ❤️]

[silversiren1101]

With a young gnome-ganzi about, the holidays tend to have a... unique brand of chaos to them.

Certainly not helped by family friends and their questionable sense of gifts!

[From @kit-n-kamoodle who has only been all too amazing for over a year now enabling my indulgences with my most favorite commissions!]

[silversiren1101]

Right here, at the Threshold of our fates, keep your promise... come back to me.

[Absolutely gorgeous piece from @pauvre-lola featuring a scene from one of my favorite fics of mine! I'm just stunned with this piece every time I look at it. I adore it so much - the textures and background and THEM!]

[silversiren1101]

I've Missed You - Drabble

[Blasted with this, need to get it out. Not proofread. Not edited and vetted for character voice and vibe check]

"...Apologies. I will return another time--" Regill halted immediately upon stepping into the Knight Commander's room, seeing she was not alone.

Sosiel Vaenic stood at her bedside, leaned over her still unconscious form. Sparks of golden light flitted from his fingers to where he was holding her arm, the motes melting over flesh and dull scales into the limp muscles beneath them. A way to prevent atrophy, Regill recognized. She'd been unconscious for over two weeks now, her reconstructed soul still not yet coalesced enough for her to wake. Without it, she'd be too weak to hold her hammer when she finally awoke, much less wear her armor...

Something about that gripped his chest with an unbearable tightness. The Knight Commander was not weak. She--Arangeir harbored a strength he'd seen in no one else, and yet he could only think of what'd happened in the deepest depths of her dreamscape at that thought. The core piece of her fractured soul--her in the truest sense of the word--had wailed in his arms, a sound he'd never heard from her before that'd pierced him surer than any spear. It hadn't been real, and yet it had. The dreamscape was more truth than it wasn't, in a sense. Her hot tears had both soaked his neck and hadn't. The body that shaken against his was her essence at its most pure, and so his had been, too. She'd shivered from the cold and felt cold, but the cold had been the unspeakable despair trying to snuff the last light of her remaining which he'd desperately tried to kindle to keep from going out completely. His actual fingers hadn't threaded through the feathers on the back of her neck as he'd pulled her close, but he could still feel the cold and damp of them there in reality. His actual arms hadn't wrapped around her, trying to banish the chill of death with his own body heat, but even through the thick bandages and sling keeping his left arm secure he resisted a shiver. And though she lay there, so quiet in her slumber, he heard the wracking sobs she'd held in for decades finally finding their way out, sounding so utterly broken it'd made his breath catch.

He was not made for comforting. He had not made himself to be comforting. He'd made himself to never need it himself.

And the thought of her, awake, whole again yet struggling to even hold the hammer and don the armor she'd always been so proud to wear filled him with such a wrongness. It made him want to leave. He felt a sudden need to run-no, retreat, the roiling feelings about it all an unknown foe he had no idea how to handle. Even as many hours--days--as it'd taken to force himself to finally visit her bedside in reality, that dread creeped over him the same feeling as when he knew he was facing overwhelming odds. It wasn't that he was a coward. He was tactical, not wanting to rush in without fully understanding the situation. How he felt was impacting his sense of judgement, so he simply needed more time to figure out what exactly it was he was feeling and develop a proper defense. It was all too new. Foreign. Alien. His chest and stomach felt tight like someone had squeezed both with an ironclad fist, and his pulse thumped enough to threaten his already precarious balance, his cursed wounds stubborn in their refusal to heal.

He wasn't a coward. He wasn't afraid of her. The Knight Commander--Arangeir was--

"She would probably like to hear your voice, you know."

Regill blinked, stopping with one foot already out of the room. Sosiel had spoken behind him, a softness to the cleric's voice out of place with how he normally spoke to him. There was no condescension or disdain, fury or disgust so unbefitting a Shelynite as Regill was used to receiving from the man. There was only a patient, almost warm reassurance. He might've been offended, or at least annoyed in any other situation, but the twisted, confusing mass inside him left no room otherwise.

"You were the one that told us not to leave her alone, were you not? Everyone has spent time with her, but not the one she needs most."

'She doesn't need me', he thinks, but not out of any sense of self-deprecation. A part of him wants to assert that she doesn't need anyone. Not Arangeir, she's--she shattered to pieces and sobbed in his arms and clung to him so tightly he thought he'd have bruises on his actual body when he woke from the dream. The image of her proud and mighty in her Hellknight plate, a confident grin on her face and energy in her every movement clashed so harshly with the shivering, bare body crying against him...

She did need him.

He felt light-headed. He needed to retreat. He needed to be alone and think again and identify what was making him feel like this.

"...I don't want to interrupt her treatment. I can come back... another time", he made to excuse himself, beginning to continue his path out the door.

Behind him, he could hear the smile tinging Sosiel's words, holding him back yet again.

"I can finish after. With your wounds, it was no small feat to make it up here. No need to make you waste the energy it took."

The courage you finally worked up, Regill understood the insinuation clearly. He hadn't even any ire to hold his tongue, no energy left to continue denying anymore. He was a coward. The thought of approaching the comatose woman and just seeing her there in her sickbed had him on the verge of panic. He didn't know what to do about that. He didn't know how to handle what it meant about him. He... He just didn't know. He wasn't comfortable with not knowing. He wasn't used to not understanding himself like this.

"Please. It'll be good for the both of you."

The cleric was right. He couldn't argue. Leaving now would be a waste and, worse, a humiliation.

He sighed, exhaling more shakily than he thought. Bracing his good hand on the door's frame, Regill turned back around, finding that Sosiel had folded Arangeir's arm back over the thick covers keeping her warm. She herself hadn't moved a single inch otherwise, still as if time itself had frozen save for the subtle rise and fall of her sleeping breaths. His gaze didn't move upward, to her face. It couldn't. He could only see how it'd looked before they ventured into her dreams to find and save her, eyes pitted and nearly black underneath from weakness, scales on her face still tinged with Abyssal corruption, oozing blood and sloughing off, leaving patches of rot and pus beneath...

He looked instead at Sosiel, who merely nodded and stepped away from her bedside, ushering him forth. He even hooked his foot around the leg of the chair that'd been left close by for visitors to keep her company in her slumber, preemptively moving it close given Regill would've struggled to do so with the state of his arm and core wounds.

"I won't eavesdrop, don't worry. Just find me in the war room on your way out so I can finish up her treatment."

The cleric was past him and gone, the door closed, before he could change his mind, before his confidence could waver yet again. He'd be in the war room, a clear view of the hall where he could see anyone come and go. He'd know if he left too soon.

This was going to happen. This needed to happen. It had to.

Ultimately, it was not for his own need, or beating back the traitorous fear that Regill found himself at her bedside minutes later. It was only for the fact that he knew that she needed him that he bit back the pain it took settling into that chair, the stitches gracing his ribs making him gasp. And it was only for the memory of how cold she'd felt in that crumbling dreamscape that he managed to take her hand into his own after, in sudden, desperate, need to know that she was warm now.

He stared down at her fingers, limp in his own bleached ones. It was strange, seeing them bare, not protected with that familiar black leather and backplate she always preferred compared to the Hellknight standard gauntlets. A solid few seconds passed before he consciously realized that he was holding her hand, and the realization came with a sharp inhale that made him nearly drop it. He shifted backward, the brief moment of panic finally forcing his gaze upward towards seeing the face he'd avoided up until that very moment.

Arangeir--Minovae looked at peace. She looked more at peace than he'd ever seen since they reunited in that cave assaulted by gargoyles, not remembering him nor even herself then. Those deep bags beneath her eyes had faded almost completely. Her scales were almost back to their normal luster, a milky seafoam instead of their opalescent but no longer tinged by red and purple and ringed with pus and blood. The patches where they'd fallen off had mostly healed, and he could see a faint shimmer where they were already beginning to regrow. Even her lips, which had split in multiple places and painfully oozed had healed.

She looked almost how he remembered her. Not weeks ago. Not the months in the Abyss. Not even before then.

Decades had passed, almost a century of her disappearing from his life and the world, but the sleeping, recovering woman he held the hand of looked so very close to the one he'd known from Cheliax. Nearly eighty years ago, for over 10 years they'd fought side by side, bleeding together... dying together... surviving together...

Falling for one another.

He knew that now. It seemed so painfully obvious to him now that his feelings for her hadn't come about only in the past year. They'd been there since she'd left him back then, saving his life without telling him the truth of why. She'd loved him the whole time and it turned out that he hadn't been far off himself, because then he'd felt a pain with her departure that'd only came out as rage and bitterness without knowing the truth of its origins.

And now they were here. They were alive, and she looked so much more like the image that came to mind when someone said 'Minovae Arangeir' that he could only realize he'd loved her all along. Somehow, too, he knew that the version of her that would wake, when she was ready to, would be more like that woman too. The suffering and trauma she'd endured, more than enough for a dozen lifetimes, had come to light. She could heal. She could smile again, genuinely; that wide, dazzling smile bright as clear sunlight where a hint of fang would slip over her lower lip that he hadn't seen their time in Egorian nearly eighty years ago.

"...I've missed you."

His voice broke the restful sanctuary of her room on its own accord. He didn't start, not like before with the realization he'd been holding her hand. A calmness had washed over him, banishing the anxiousness and near-panic from the unknown feelings ravaging his usual discipline and disposition. He only breathed deep, and squeezed those fingers, warm and alive, the same as he'd squeezed around her arms and shoulders in the dream.

"I've missed you... Minovae."

He even used her name, finding it alien yet familiar on his tongue in equal measure. Not Knight Commander. Not Arangeir. Not any other rank or title or name to keep a level of formality between them. It sat there heavy yet... right.

"Rest. I'll wait, as long as it takes."

[silversiren1101]

Each kiss a promise, a reminder, a statement: I've chosen this, you.

[Commissioned from clefari check them out, larger piece is very NSFT]

[silversiren1101]

[Because I'm going through stuff, time to make my blorbos too. A flash of a scene: the immediate aftermath of Minovae using the aeon the restore the bulk of her memories in Act 3...]

Her mind burned.

She couldn't feel the stone beneath her knees. Couldn't hear the concerned voices around her. Couldn't see through the white flash gradually turning red. Couldn't feel the wet heat of the blood soaking her clothing from the mysterious chest wound that'd reopened, of the crimson streaming down her face from her nose and eyes and ears as the Aeon had torn off whatever magic had been suppressing her memories without gentleness or care.

All that existed to her then was that burning, of which two versions of her screamed in unison. The barrier keeping them separated gone, both suddenly occupied the same cramped, burning, bleeding mind. Both were the truth. Both made up her whole.

They should've blended, congealing into a solid singular her. Water meeting more water. Blood into blood.

But only one had stayed conscious through the agony, for agony was the only thing she knew.

All she, this Minovae, knew, was demons.

Distantly, she heard screaming. Distantly, she felt she was clothed. Distantly, she felt no pressure about her wrists and ankles.

No gag. No humiliation. No bindings.

Consciously, none of that mattered with the pain.

Her hands clutched at her head, trying to swat at the agony protected by the bone of her skull. Break it. Shatter it. Get it OUT! Panic and terror choked her from within at the feeling, all so sudden and new and familiar all at once. What was this?! What had they done to her now? Hadn't the demons found every way to have their fun with her by now?! Except—No. No. This pain like a smoldering briar had been dragged through her mind time and time again, like a poker left to turn white-hot in the fire had been driven into every crevice—she knew this pain.

"...Commander...?"

This was that pain. Memories flashed, each agonizing, of her chained in that dungeon in Egorian, of those false Hellknights, those pretenders calling themselves the Glyph...! Their clawed hands raked through her thoughts to find what she'd seen! To find her weaknesses, to find—! NO! They'd already found it: Him. And he was... was... The memories fractured and spiraled. Cold stone pressed against her brow as in reality she crumpled to her hands and knees but she wasn't in reality anymore. Two separate images overlapped in her mind's eye: skin warm as amber yet also grey as stone; molten gold irises turned pale as citrine in a single blink; all so much color and life bleeding out to lifeless grey and white.

"Arangeir! Can you hear me?"

She heard his voice then, too. She recognized it and didn't, because it was wrong. Too much gravel. Too much concern. He didn't feel for her like that to sound that way. She'd given up everything to keep him safe but he didn't know that. He'd never sound like that.

All of this was a trick, she realized. This was yet another cruelty from the demons in the only way they could know amusement and joy. It had to be.

"She's bleeding out! We need to—"

"Careful! Something is wrong. She's not... that's not her."

Different voices. Names welled in her subconscious like a plea to stay away as much as it is a plea for help. 'Seelah... Seelah don't let me hurt anyone... Keep Sosiel away... keep... everyone...'

But the half of her in control didn't know those voices. The half of her in control only heard around her the scheming of demons, watching eagerly to see how this new torment they've devised will play out.

"Minnow! It's okay! It must be so scary but you're not alone! We're here!"

Her heart squeezed in a vise at that high and bright voice. So encouraging. 'Ember, please, run—I can't—'. So clear through the pain, somehow, like...

"Focus, Arangeir! Pull yourself together. I know you can. You're better than this."

But then it was his again. The liar. The scheme. The trick. The torture—

She bolted upright in an instant. She needed to see what horrible creature awaited her in the direction of that voice, so wrong as much as something in her wept that it was the truth. The white flashing of agony had given way to smeared crimson—blood! Had they torn her eyes out and restored them yet again just before death claimed her? How they loved that one—and through them did she see the trick they'd planned for her.

How laughable. He didn't look like that: aged like decades had passed!? Bleached like he'd succumbed to despair?! Staring at her with that mote of concern in those wrongly pale eyes? Not him. Never. She realized the demons had found a way to read through her mind just like House Thrune had, but demons were clumsy and brutish beasts.

The illusion before her was not Regill Derenge. She knew it wasn't.

She knew it was.

Only then did the pain dull then, giving way to a rage she'd never thought herself capable of feeling ever again. All so much torture, everything she'd suffering from devil's hands to those of the Abyss had stolen from her such passion, she'd thought. But these horrid fiends had thought to wield against her the one being she'd never suffer dishonored in such a way. All that she'd given of herself to keep him safe, securing his safety with that infernal brand Thrune pressed upon her...

Her nails dragged across the stone so sharply she may have looked down to see they were still there had she been her other self. Blood filled her mouth from the clenching of her teeth into her snarl, and she realized the demons had also restored her fangs this time with her eyes. How long had she been without them? It didn't matter; time was meaningless in the dungeons beneath Drezen and she wasn't about to let their mistake go to waste.

She would remind them again why they'd torn them from her mouth in the first place.

Every muscle coiled as she pounced, far stronger than she should've been capable of. This body wasn't starved, wasn't weak from torture and despair and nothingness. But the rage kept her from seeing through that veil to the truth, so thin as to be nearly transparent. The rage only drove her forward, flaring even hotter as that face that was not his and yet so very much was briefly flashed in alarm before she made contact with him.

"Arange—!" His voice cut off with a grunt as she tackled him to the ground, as she knocked the wind out of him. He had yet barely breathed in more, barely shouted for her to "—what are you d—!"

Before it all choked into wet, gurgled, gasping.

And it struck her that the wet, crimson heat flowing around her fangs, now buried in his throat, didn't taste as it did the last time she'd wielded them against a demon. It tasted like the one and only other mortal they'd torn through before—of the Thrune whose throat she'd left a hollow ragged gape upon finding out what had become of her stolen Foundlings...

This wasn't demon blood. This wasn't demon flesh.

"Oh, gods! Get her off of him!" Someone yelled, coming to her in her haze as if through water.

She reared back. Everything was shaking. The blood filled her mouth. The blood was everywhere. Splattered across his face that was and wasn't—no, was. Something inside of her screamed, just screamed at her that it was. Arterial red gushed from the ragged gash she'd torn beneath him, covered now by his gauntleted hand applying pressure best he could. Even as blood spluttered from his lips, then streaming, his gaze never faltered. Pale, so wrongfully pale, those yellow irises glared up at her.

She could only shake, paralyzed by them.

"Y-you... fool..."

She wanted to scream. Wanted to disappear. Wanted to... to...

'Go to sleep, Minnow. It's okay. You're scared. You did something bad. But it's okay. Go to sleep and it will all be okay when you wake up.'

Sleep.

She wanted to sleep.

Ember's hex washed over her like a warm bath, taking his blood from her mouth along with it.

[silversiren1101]

“...with each day I’m reminded that words like "beautiful” are not a useless as I had believed. They can mean something beyond hollow excuses and justifications; more than just empty subjectivity where plainer words would suffice...”

[Commissioned from @korethefey !]

[silversiren1101]

Contrafactum - Minovae x Regill Comic (NSFT)

For everyone that loves Mino and Regill as much as I do, there's an amazing comic-rendition of one of my older smut fics involving a Reduce Person potion mishap combined with some Extend Metamagic (thanks Nenio!) It's funny! It's tender! It's sweet! It's the best kind of horny!

The rest of this eight-page comic (very Not Safe for Tumblr/Not Safe for Work) can be found on my Toyhouse and on Grey's NSFW Twitter "@afterdarkergrey"

As always I have to thank @darkergrey for bringing this to life! It was a huge undertaking and so much fun to work on 💜

[Link to this page (Page 1) on Toyhouse, the following pages are right after it in the gallery]

[silversiren1101]

And So We Start Again

There, in the petrified boughs, of a willow tree that might never have grown so much as appeared exactly as it was, did her search finally come to an end. The thread between them, invisible yet unmistakable, like an insistent slight tug over where her heart lay, finally stilled, as if in anticipation. A held breath.

The cold granite plaza was empty save for this tree and the presence she felt resting within; a stark contrast for the others she'd passed through. They'd thronged with the residents here, those souls of fallen soldiers, of the victims of murders and suicides. Silence rarely graced the Garden Anima she'd come to realize, these stone walls and structures ringing with wailing grief and and howling rage as much as they did with song and laughter, colored by, at last, acceptance. This place was a refuge for bitterness and grief as much as it was for comfort and solace, she'd understood quickly after her search had began; and how that had twisted her heart with more confusion than not—that he was here.

It'd only hurried her steps. Each passing moment had been harder to contain the wall of tears pressing behind her eyes. She hadn't even officially declared her entry. Hadn't even asked for permission from the lord of the house, so to speak. She'd only followed that thread in her heart from where she'd appeared elsewhere in Pharasma's Court—Ascended at last—having barged into another's domain without so much as a thought for the consequences.

"Have you seen a—", she'd been asking the residents, to no avail, when Mrtyu had greeted her, a slight laugh to his voice as he'd assured her that none had seen the quarry of her search. She'd been fearful at first, preparing for a fight, even, in anticipation of his wrath at her intrusion, but it'd been no blade bared at her. How warm his smile had been, dark eyes so filled with passion where rose blossoms ringed them practically glowing with life from the vibrancy of their red—just as red as the gaping, ever bleeding wound across his stomach. She'd known Ushers to be strange, yet he'd defied anything she could ever have expected. He'd seemed filled with life and love even as much as he was marked permanently with his death, and none of the others she'd met had captured a fraction of his passion in their own stony demeanors. How relieving it'd been when he'd reached not for his greatsword, but for the basket of fruit at his side, pulling forth an orange she knew unmistakably to be of Wiscrani origin.

Death's Consort had accepted her apology at her intrusion as if it hadn't been needed at the slightest, speaking to her like an old friend as much as a colleague, and the orange she'd shared with him had tasted so much of home that it'd loosed some of those tears meant for her upcoming reunion. She'd known then as they'd talked, with his jovial and fiery spirit and kindness, that Mrtyu meant her (and him) only good will, and her sudden kinship and respect for him had surprised her more than his abrupt appearance had.

Especially when he'd clapped her so reassuringly on the shoulder as he bid her off on her search, "...a man after my own heart, that one...".

The tears had been harder to contain after that, remembering that Mrtyu, though Usher now, had been the first mortal to die with love on his lips. Of course he was here, knowing that. Mrtyu had welcomed him with a piece of fruit she knew he'd politely accepted, and then he'd slunk away to the most quiet corner of the Garden he could find to wait.

For her.

Twenty some years, he'd been sleeping in the tree she now stood before. Did time pass the same here as it did back home? Had it felt like an eternity? A blink of an eye? Exactly as it should've felt...? Certainly not a blink, something told her, because he was sleeping to pass the time, and oh did that realization make her choke on a sob.

The willow's curtain parted to reveal not silence within, but a facsimile of chirruping crickets and toads. It sounded so much like the environs of Citadel Darvhage once the sun began to set she could only smile even as her cheeks grew drenched with her silent tears. No, she was certain it was exactly the same—as he remembered it.

Yet, he was not here. She stopped, filled with a sudden panic and terror that there was no figure lying on a bough, peacefully asleep. There was no sign that there was anyone here, or that anyone had been here save Mrtyu given the red rose petals on the spongy garden soil here and there. Only by focusing on that insistent thread did she keep from falling apart, the line of it leading not to any branches or boughs but a hollow in the trunk she hadn't noticed before. Small. A squirrel could make a home in it, but anything else? Still, the thread led there, and so did the the Usher's fallen petals. Her boots settled into previously formed prints, where Death's Consort had also certainly come to peer inside to check on his solitary ward at times. Both beings beheld the same thing: inside the hollow lay a barely glowing mote of purple-tinged grey, like a self-contained ball of smoke.

Only then since ascending fully to her role as The Inevitable Paradox, did Minovae Arangeir find her lips pulling into a smile; warm, so filled with affection at how her prickly love had decided to while the years until she could come for him. Even more so, as, when she reached to retrieve and wake him, his dreams traveled from the first fingertip that grazed him to suffuse her thoughts like warm golden rays.

She laughed as much as she sobbed, sinking to her knees with him cradled in her hands. Reducing himself to a blob of quintessence and hiding himself in the most solitary place he could so no one could disturb him as she passed the twenty years just reliving their shared life again?

"Oh, Regill...", she gasped, her smile still strong as she choked around tears.

A part of her felt guilty for waking him, but she knew how incensed he'd be if she let him laze about in metaphorical bed when she was finally, finally here. Their shared promise of what they would do filled her heart and thoughts like song. It was time to wake. It was time to start again.

And so, without wasting a single second more, like a smoldering cinder in need of just a little fuel, she blew gently unto the soul that would be her Herald life and light and shape once more.

[The song that inspired this is I, Carrion (Icarian)]

[silversiren1101]

Well game if you aren't going to tell me then I'm just going to fill in the blanks myself and we all know that's the last thing you want

[silversiren1101]

THEM

(Part of a larger, spicier sketch page from tinyfratboy)

[silversiren1101]

Naturally ruminating more on the implication of the piece I wrote today - on Mino and Regill's 'ending'.

After his tragic death in battle, she fully ascends to the Inevitable Paradox (a lawful protean lord) after Jesyll is fully grown and leaves to take on the world. Given Mino's status as lawful protean lord, I doubt she'd be welcomed in Axis among other Inevitables/Axiomites, and she wouldn't fit in the Maelstrom either. Given Ssila'meshnik's own "wild card" role in the Boneyard and relationship to Pharasma, Minovae to me is prime Psychopomp Usher material.

Her unique characteristics, devotion and reverence of mortality and mortals, and of course the familial relation leads to Pharasma asking her to accept a Court of her own, to which she tentatively accepts as she realizes she has no real place for her (and Regill!) to go. It ends up being exactly where she needs to be, a perfect afterlife where she gets to work, fight for what she's passionate for, and also spend it with her favorite person (heh). Her court specifically deals with souls wronged in the name of the divine: anyone killed by an outsider that has left them particularly distraught in death; those who lived miserable lives shaped by the machinations or actions of a greater power that would've been completely different otherwise; those that died cursing their own god in death feeling wronged or abandoned by them; etc.

She doesn't see a lot of cases, but it fulfills a niche that neither Mrtyu, Phlegyas, or Saloc cover (of which she works closely with and finds great kinship with in their shared concerns over souls).

Thinking of her 'divine' form, she looks mostly the same save for some key differences:

Her protean crown is always active

Her tail has an illusion of infiniteness - it always seems to be growing and shrinking, twisting unto itself for eternity yet also perfectly contained about her space. She has no throne either for when she's arbitrating cases; it grows long enough and coils to be a suitable enough throne for her.

The crackling, fracturing pink constellations are near constant around her eyes, and spark furiously around her when her emotions are flaring. They also constantly flit about subtlety in the facets of her scales.

Her feathers have a slight chromatic aberration about them at the edges.

Any Hellknight iconography on her armor is replaced instead by her own symbol - a stylized version of her crown over a shield

Regill's own 'herald' form is that of a spectral looking owl with glowing, wispy, piercing yellow eyes; the horned kind of owl that always looks like it's glaring. His feathers are pale, especially at the tips, and he has strangely white talons instead of black. Mino can peer through his vision by manifesting the central prong of her crown above his head - the one that contains the single protean-like eye. He usually takes this form when out on 'herald' business and is known simply as The Old Owl, but back at home in her Court he assumes his mortal form without issue (and so can she).

Just imagining stylized divinity artwork of them now - The Inevitable Paradox with her infinitely shifting tail behind her, crown flaring and the eye in the center seeing through to the truth, intimidating ghostly owl perched on her arm...