#that contains the soul of one of my mortal enemies?

[capyfan]

leshy: don't touch my stuff

challenger: touches stuff

leshy:

based on this lol

[antlered-prince]

The ValRayne Faeu Masterpost

Decided to finally make a masterpost for @owl-bones and I's fae au! This will be updated when I remember and contains all the relevant info and designs you might want (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

You can find more under the #valrayne-faeu tag on both of our blogs. Feel free to also use this tag or tag either of us in anything you make!

Last updated: 2/7/2024

Designs

Finished Dream (full body soon) Blue (will get a slight revamp) Ink Nightmare Killer (will also get a small revamp) WIPs Horror Dust (wings) Cross Error (wings)

How tall is everyone?

World Building

Designing OCs/Self-Inserts - ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR Can a human become fae? And visa versa? What kind of insect wings are associated with each court? What determines which Court you end up in? Rejecting becoming fae What if a fae tears off their own wings? Trying to return to the mortal realm early after being trapped Primary rules of interacting with the fae How big are the fae? What does the fae realm look like? How do you get to the fae realm? What might the fae find intriguing enough to take someone to their realm? Is there something unpleasant about the fae realm? Why wouldn't people enter the fae realm willingly? What would happen if you trick and fae instead? If a fae steals a concept can you trade it back? Iron, rowan and four leaf clovers What if a mortal manages to escape? Can fae and humans have children? Changelings Can fae be killed in some way? Do the Courts overlap our world? How knowledgeable is the average mortal? How do fae feel about Integrity souls? What is the aspect of Integrity souls that fae share? Why do fae trick people? Do fae normally have so many names? Enemies/Predators of the fae? How is a fae born? How were Dream and Nightmare born? Who is the most dangerous? Where do Dream and Nightmare stand in regards to each other?

Character Specific Asks

Dream If you can't lie, why avoid eye-contact? (Art) How can we trust you if you could be lying? Some insight on Fae Dream If Dream finds humans so interesting, why does he change them? Bird MC Drabble (ft Dream & Nightmare) Bird MC Drabble - Does Dream feel remorse? Bird MC Drabble - Can we make him understand the culture difference? Bird MC Drabble - Is there anything we can say to change his mind? What would Dream do in exchange for affection? (Art) Why is affection a big deal? Anonymous Dream Drabble He's totally non-threatening guys (Art)

Blue Blue and his conflicting values and nature (Art) I'd let him trick me (Art) I want to hug him! (Art) Who did this to you? (Scar)

Ink I'd use him as a model for painting (Art) What can I get with..... (Art)

Nightmare What is Nightmare's goal? Does Nightmare have a favourite trick? What would happen if he met his match? What's the best deal Nightmare has made? (Art) I would die to get my hands on that book What flowers are in the book? Nightmare's favourite flower? What would he want in exchange for a kiss? (Art) If we stay, would he be willing to give us information instead? If I stay for the (eternal) evening, where would I stay? What happens if we fall asleep in his library? (notes on Dream's garden & library) Nightmare would move us? (Library) If I asked for a hug, would he give one? Can I pet his wings? What is Nightmare's favourite noise/sound? Nightmare's wings (Art)

Killer What's Killer's favourite trick?

Dust What is Dust like?

Multiple Characters Who stole the ability to lie? Who is the liar theory (Art) Who would appreciate mortals being hard to trick? Names that Dream and Nightmare have collected Any Papyrus-type fae? (OG AUs design ideas) Can I hug Dream and Nightmare? Dream and Nightmare - Someone who didn't want to leave (Abusive family) Which fae are most likely to accidentally in-debt themselves? Someone staring while they talk because their voice is pretty (Reactions)

Other helpful refs

Beetle wing origami

[br0-k3n-sch00lb01]

Goodbye.

“I don’t want you to leave!! I don’t want you to leave me!!” Basil wailed.

A soft smile spread across Sunny’s face.

“I’ll be back. If I don’t make it, i’ll be here with you in spirit.”

“YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME AGAIN!! SUNNY! EVERYTHING I’VE DONE WAS FOR YOU!! I DON’T WANT IT TO BE ALL FOR NOTHING! This world is too precious to be destroyed! YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SAVE IT!”

Explosions sounded heavily in the distance. Basil fell to his knees. The ground shook. The red light of the poisoned and dying sun made him dizzy. Sunny began to glow with an unnatural golden light, not unlike the healthier sun before the storm. His skin shimmered.

“I know i’ll see you again. Don’t cry. It’s not the end.”

‘The end’ was a heavy statement that fell on Basil like millions of starstones. He blinked away the tears in his empty blue eyes.

“We’ll all forget you in time if you can’t do it! I DON’T WANNA FORGET Y-“

Sunny shushed him gently.

“I will succeed. You trust me, don’t you?”

Basil nodded. Sunny hugged him and with a final smile, faded in a shower of golden dust. - - -

“Basil? Where’s Sunny?”

Aubrey tapped him on the shoulder as he entered the bunker. “Gone.” He replied.

Aubrey leaned back and looked at the ground.

“I knew he would do that. The idiot. It’s almost over, if he doesn’t make it in time we’ll all die. IDIOT!! WHY DID HE GO ALONE?!” She stabbed her dagger into the table.

“He wouldn’t have risked us like that. Witches or not, we’re still mortal. It’s possible we would have died a much more painful death if we had gone out into the Abyss with him.” Kel said, patting Aubrey on the back.

“He’s risking us either way. It’s like he wants us to die.” Aubrey took her dagger out of the wood.

“He’ll be back soon enough… time works different in the Abyss. Our time moves slower. He has plenty of time to get the-“

There was a fizzle and a zap of lightning that shook the entire bunker. Aubrey stood up.

“Sunny! YOU BETTER HURRY UP!”

-.-.-

They were cornered. There wasn’t anything left. No more starstones to purify themselves, which meant they could not use their magic without risk of becoming one of the Scavengers themselves. Basil was pinned down, choking, held at the neck by black claws the size of his own body. He could not breathe. He could do nothing. Aubrey was slashing through Scavengers like butter with her scythe, but she was growing tired. Kel had passed out and Hero was defending him ad best he could. They all believed it was over. This was the end. There was nothing left for them. And yet, at the final moment when Basil started to see black fading into his vision, consuming it, he was released. A blinding flash of light came, and then there he was.

Sunny had returned to save them all.

These are a few excerpts from my Starshine AU, in which everyone except Sunny is a witch/ relatively magical being. They become corrupt if they do not purify themselves with Starstones after using said magic. Sunny is basically a god. He does not require Starstones, as his soul is naturally pure from divinity. The world came under apocalypse by the shadow monsters known as Scavengers. Their king poisoned the air, earth, and Sun, making life nearly impossible. Only the witches smart enough to counteract those effects survived. Sunny is the only one who can save the world by gathering the 7 Starshine capsules, each containing a different level of power. When combined, they render the user invincible, and able to defeat any enemy. In this part, Sunny is going off to the underworld known as the Abyss to find the last remaining capsule- Salvation. It is the strongest of the seven and the path to get it is lethal.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hey I have a question for you if you ever end up writing more meta on wandlore. In book 7 Harry's wand spits flames at Voldemort. The explanation we're given is that it imbibed some of his powers in the graveyard. The problem is it didn't react to him like this when Harry faced him in book 5. I think this is just a plot hole on JKR's part but from an in-universe POV do you have thoughts on what could have caused this? Only thing I can think of is either that Voldemort briefly possessing Harry in book 5 further linked them and/or that in book 5 Harry didn't even try to defend himself because he was taken by surprise and thus didn't try to do anything before Dumbledore intervened. Interesting to hear your ideas.

Hi!

This is a really fun ask, I love me some wandlore! That and one of my favorite pastimes is solving JKR magical plot holes by figuring out the magical theory she didn't think all the way through.

So, the first thing I did was compare the two scenes you mentioned. This is the one from book 5:

“I have nothing more to say to you, Potter,” he said quietly. “You have irked me too often, for too long. AVADA KEDAVRA!” Harry had not even opened his mouth to resist. His mind was blank, his wand pointing uselessly at the floor.

(OotP, 813)

This is the one from book 7:

It was over: He could not see or hear where Voldemort was; he glimpsed another Death Eater swooping out of the way and heard, “Avada—” As the pain from Harry’s scar forced his eyes shut, his wand acted of its own accord. He felt it drag his hand around like some great magnet, saw a spurt of golden fire through his half-closed eyelids, heard a crack and a scream of fury. the remaining Death Eater yelled; Voldemort screamed, “No!”

(DH, 58)

Now, honestly, you're right, if the magic imbued Harry's wand in the graveyard I'd expect it to react to the killing curse Voldemort casts in book 5 the same as it did in book 7. And clearly, it does not. Even when it's the same situation, same spell, same enemy, Harry can't defend himself (if for different reasons). In both, his wand isn't even aimed at Voldemort at first at all.

So, I started wondering what is different between the scenes. Clearly, the situation is almost identical, so what difference could affect how Harry's wand reacts?

And then it hit me: Voldemort's wand.

In the first scene, in book 5, Voldemort is using his own wand, yaw and phoenix feather, brother wand to Harry. In the scene in book 7, the wand Voldemort uses is Lucius'.

So, my theory is that Harry's wand reacted differently because Voldemort wasn't carrying its brother, but a different wand.

So, with this in mind, let's try to explain what Harry's wand is doing and why.

The explanation we get in the books is that the Piori Incantatum in the graveyard essentially "charged" Harry's wand against Voldemort specifically:

“I believe that your wand imbibed some of the power and qualities of Voldemort’s wand that night, which is to say that it contained a little of Voldemort himself. So your wand recognized him when he pursued you, recognized a man who was both kin and mortal enemy, and it regurgitated some of his own magic against him, magic much more powerful than anything Lucius’s wand had ever performed. Your wand now contained the power of your enormous courage and of Voldemort’s own deadly skill: What chance did that poor stick of Lucius Malfoy’s stand?”

(DH, 600)

But I already mentioned here, that I don't think this scene is the real Dumbledore. So, I'm not sure how much faith can be placed in this explanation, especially since when Voldemort carried the brother wand, Harry's wand didn't shoot out golden flames.

(As an aside, I don't think wands can sponge up magic like that at all...)

But I think Harry's subconscious is right about the flames resulting from the multitude of magical connections between Voldemort and Harry. After the graveyard, they are, like, crazy magically connected. We've got:

Soul - Harry has a piece of Voldy's soul because he's a Horcrux

Blood (spirit) - Voldemort used Harry's blood in his resurrection ritual so their lives are bound to each other.

Magic - wands share a core.

And I'm going to forgo talking about the prophecy for this, but it's kind of bonkers how many layers of magic are binding them. And I think this is the key to it all.

So, essentially you have two wizards, that for the intent and purposes of magic, are as close as kin as possible. By soul and spirit, they are an extension of each other. So certain magic (like Lily's blood protection that is based on blood) probably sees Voldemort as an extension of Harry or vice versa. But they are not the same, as Dumbledore said in OotP: "but in essence divided", and other magic can recognize that (like the Elder Wand).

And the wands know this. Voldemort's yaw wand and Harry's holly wand are referred to as brothers, and I think that name is quite telling. Brother wands don't seem to want to fight each other, they share a core so they aren't meant to turn on each other, they are kin, extensions of each other. This is why the Priori Incantatum happened in the graveyard — to stop them from fighting. And if Harry cast a spell in the ministry in OotP, it would've happened again.

I think that first Priori Incantatum did change something and mattered for what happened in book 7. It basically was like an introduction. Afterwards, Harry's wand can recognize Voldemort, his magic, and his wand.

What I think happened with Lucius' wand is not far from Harry's subconscious explanation. The wand recognized Voldemort as Harry's kin, an extension of Harry himself, but he was carrying an unfamiliar wand - an enemy wand. I think the combination of kin with an unfamiliar wand is what caused it. Kind of like a jealous sort of "Harry isn't supposed to be with another wand". The yaw wand was fine because it shared the same core, the wands are connected just like Voldemort and Harry, so the brother wand wouldn't register as a threat.

For the holly wand, being attacked by an extension of Harry with an unfamiliar wand, felt off. Wrong. The magic felt wrong like it was 3 inches too far to the left. And I think that's what it reacted to. To the sense of wrongness that comes with seeing a familiar person somewhere, they really shouldn't be. This whiplash, I think, is what registered as a threat to the holly wand.

We know some wands can be sentient to this degree. Sycamore wands, burst into flames when they get 'bored':

It is a quirk of these handsome wands that they may combust if allowed to become ‘bored’, and many witches and wizards, settling down into middle age, are disconcerted to find their trusty wand bursting into flame in their hand as they ask it, one more time, to fetch their slippers. 

(from Pottermore)

Hazel wands die with their masters:

so devoted to its owner that it often ‘wilts’ (which is to say, it expels all its magic and refuses to perform, often necessitating the extraction of the core and its insertion into another casing, if the wand is still required) at the end of its master’s life

(from Pottermore)

So I think it's completely in line with what we know about wands that Harry's wand would get protective when something in Voldemort's magic feels off due to the unfamiliar wand. On the same page about wand woods holly wands are said to be very volatile and protective, so the behavior fits its personality. I think Harry's wand is protective of him and acts up to protect him when it recognizes it needs to. Voldemort and Harry's connection along with Voldemort using a different wand registered to the holly wand as a threat it needs to protect against.

TL;DR

Harry's wand recognized Voldemort as a kin of Harry. Voldemort's wand is its own kin, and therefore not a threat in OotP. The moment Voldemort, whom Harry's wand now recognizes, used an unfamiliar wand (Lucius' wand) Harry's wand registered him and the unfamiliar wand as a threat and reacted to protect Harry. The magic flames shot out were its own, not Voldemort's sponged-up magic.

At least, that's my theory.

[moodcrab]

Sheogorath IS Lorkhan!!!

My take on the creation of Mundus goes like this. Lorkhan god of space wishes to create the physical realm Mundus.

Why? Because his fellow Et'Ada may all be powerful gods but with nothing to do they would remain big balls of untapped potential for eternity. In other words, what use is space to grow with no limitations from which to break through? Or bounce off of? You can't build muscle without resistance. You'll never fulfill your potential if there's no motivation to do so. Take Arkay, a god like any other but with no mortals to live and die, no souls to psychopomp, what is he for?

So Lorkhan decides to create Mundus by playing a trick on some of his fellow Et'Ada, while recruiting others to help him play the trick. Those he tricked would one day become the Aedra, Magna Ge and the Earth Bones. Those he recruited, as well as those who refused to take part one way or the other, would become the Daedra.

But part of Lorkhan's plan was its failure. He intended to get caught last minute, and at the moment of Convention Magnus and his followers fled Mundus creating the sun and stars, while the Trinimac and the Aedra ripped Lorkhan apart, his broken body created the moons, his heart was launched into the sea where it would create Red Mountain and eventually the Numidium, and his soul was shattered throughout time and space to wander Nirn as the Shezzarine. This is when the Deadra who didn't follow Lorkhan saw their opportunity, and attacked. Jyggalag, the mind of Lorkhan that sought to bring order to this crazy universe, was driven mad and cursed to live as Sheogorath.

In short, Mankar Camoran was right. So where's my proof?

Let's start with linguistics. The Bretons are man-mer, one foot in both sides of the Ehlnofey schism. They have the merish view of Lorkhan as this devilish trickster god, but they call him Sheor, like his manish name Shor.

Shor - Sheor - Sheogorath

Lorkhan is also known as Shezarr, the missing god of the Cyrodiilic pantheon. That Lorkhan shaped hole keeps getting filled with gods of war/ spirits of the endeavours of man. One such god was Ebonarm, sworn enemy of all Daedra, with the notable exception of Sheogorath. Why is that? Perhaps Ebonarm sought vengeance for Lorkhan's betrayal, which Sheogorath is not only innocent but one of the victims?

How about that guy you meet in The Shivering Isles, Dyus of Mytheria? He is the one thing of Jyggalag's world that Sheogorath refuses to destroy after returning from the Greymarch; his librarian. The keeper of the knowledge of CREATION ITSELF! Not only is Sheogorath unable to bring himself to destroy Dyus, he keeps him immortal and imprisoned in the library.

"As the Great Library, it once contained all the knowledge in creation. However, spare me your grief. My imprisonment is as meaningless as my immortality. Time and place are nothing. Constructs of a feeble mortal mind attempting to categorize and understand the world around it. If you were one of the fortunate few, you would one day understand and accept this. However, you are not and you will not."

"Contained within its walls were the logical prediction of every action ever taken by any creature, mortal or Daedric. Every birth. Every death. The rise of Tiber Septim. The Numidium. Everything. All predicted with the formulae found within Jyggalag's library."

It's interesting he uses both Tiber Septim (Talos) and Numidium as examples as both are examples of those Lorkhan shaped gods filling the Shezarr hole, and both use the heart of Lorkhan/Mantella to achieve divine power. So Jyggalag/Sheogorath hold the knowledge of creation, which they would know because they are manifestations of the mind of the creator Lorkhan.

Mankar Camoran believed that Mundus was a realm of Oblivion as Lorkhan was a Daedric Prince (Jyggalag??), so Dagon has every right to inherit it. This can easily be written off as an excuse to dominate the mortal plain, but if my theory is right then this belief is a legitimate way of interpreting it. If Mehrunes Dagon was one of Lorkhan's loyal recruits he might want to conquer what he sees as his inheritance.

"How little you understand! You cannot stop Lord Dagon. The Principalities have sparkled as gems in the black reaches of Oblivion since the First Morning. Many are their names and the names of their masters: the Coldharbour of Meridia, Peryite's Quagmire, the ten Moonshadows of Mephala, and... and Dawn's Beauty, the Princedom of Lorkhan... misnamed 'Tamriel' by deluded mortals."

"Yes, you understand now. Tamriel is just one more Daedric realm of Oblivion, long since lost to its Prince when he was betrayed by those that served him. Lord Dagon cannot invade Tamriel, his birthright! He comes to liberate the Occupied Lands!"

Consider Boethiah. If Lorkhan was plotting against the other Et'Ada who would make a better ally than the Prince of plots? Consider what she did to Trinimac, the Aedra that "killed" Lorkhan. She not only humiliated him in battle, she ate and excreted him as Malacath. In doing so she transformed his followers into the Orcs. She exposed the grandest Aedroth knight to be just the same as the Daedra, using Mundus as a playground and mortals as toys, and she turned his merish followers into ugly brutes, exactly what the mer accuse men of being. And she did so in the service of the Chimer, leading more elves away from their "ancestors". I mean, she could have just killed him... But she chose to destroy what he was. Strip away his pretensions. It just feels personal. Vengeful.

Consider also that Boethiah is almost certainly the Night Mother of the Dark Brotherhood. Think about it. Why would Sithis care about contract murder in Tamriel? He is the void. Boethiah on the other hand is all about sneaking around plotting to murder people, and tricking a bunch of goths into worshipping the wrong god. Using the corpse of some poor Bravil girl she has made a cult to Lorkhan, who is a being of Sithis. Ever wonder why the statue of Sithis in Oblivion is of a man with his heart ripped out? Remind you of anyone?

But it's just a theory. It gets crazier when you accept that Lorkhan and Akatosh are the same person. But that's a rambling theory for another blog.

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 1.5) Chapter Five

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Five: One Hell of a Torture

Summary: (Y/N) and Sebastian face an angel's torture, and Sebastian comes to a realization.

            (Y/N) sighed in boredom. Blood dripped from the wounds across their body, but the pain had dulled to an ache. Besides, as far as torture went, (Y/N) had delt with far worse. Whips and scalpels hurt, yes, but a demon such as them wouldn’t be broken by human tactics. So they just hung by their wrists and contemplated how much they were going to enjoy tearing their enemies apart once Ciel decided that he had the information he wanted and called Sebastian.

            “What a sorry sight,” said a familiarly haughty, self-righteous voice. “A being with such potential driven to such filth by temptation.”

            (Y/N) raised their head to look at Angela as she entered the torture chamber. She wore garters and heels paired with a leotard of white and a cape of feathers.

            For an angel, she’s dressed an awful lot like a succubus, thought (Y/N) in amusement. “You keep saying I have potential, yet I’ve already pursued power within darkness. You’ll find you have nothing to tempt me with.”

            Angela put her hands on her hips as she regarded (Y/N). “Perhaps not, but it is still a shame that such a powerful being stays hidden in darkness. Just think of the power I could bring you.” Her hand trailed over (Y/N)’s face. “Truly, if you were to just allow yourself to be cleansed, you would become such an incredibly divine being, superior to the demons you associate with.”

            (Y/N) rolled their eyes. “Twist your words however you like, my answer will remain the same. I’ve manipulated enough mortals to understand the spells that can be woven into words, and I see through yours.”

            Angela’s eyes hardened before she smirked. Her hand traced over (Y/N)’s jaw to their neck. “Very well. Then how about we make a deal? You leave the boy and the raven demon. You go on your way, and when I begin to cleanse this world, you can have any soul you desire. Doesn’t that sound perfect for a demon such as yourself?”

            “I ate recently. I’m not hungry,” said (Y/N).

            “Demons are gluttons,” snapped Angela. “I know that a soul of the right sort would appetize you.”

            “It doesn’t change the fact that you have nothing to offer me,” said (Y/N), eyes reflecting just how bored with the situation they were.

            Angela cocked her head. “Why do you have such loyalty to the boy? He is not your contract…” She raised an eyebrow. “And you have even less of a reason to be loyal to the raven demon…Demons never bond with one another except in extreme circumstances. So why are you so unwilling to abandon him?”

            “There are some things you will never understand, oh holy one,” said (Y/N), eyes dark.

            Angela’s eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll be punished for your sins if you refuse to admit to needing purification.” She pulled out a flask from her pocket. The water glinted into the light. “I had intended to keep this for our dear Sebastian Michaelis, but seeing as you are so intransigent and prideful…You may have a taste of Holy Water.”

            “It can’t be that holy if you’re the one who made it,” said (Y/N) with a smirk, though they eyed the flask carefully.

            “We shall see.” Angela poured the water over (Y/N)’s wounds.

            Agony burned over (Y/N), and they let out a scream of rage that promised Angela death once they were free. No pain remained in their voice, just revenge.

l

            Sebastian heard the scream of pure demonic rage, the promise of vengeance woven within it. He was tempted to smirk since whoever was foolish enough to cause actual pain to a demon had clearly forgotten who they were messing with. However, Sebastian knew it was (Y/N) screaming, and his blood boiled. His fingers flexed with contained instincts to break through the pitiful chains holding him back in order to tear apart (Y/N)’s torturer. It was only his contract’s orders holding him back.

            “How lovely, Sebastian,” said a familiarly sanctimonious voice.

            Sebastian’s dark gaze lifted to see Angela standing before him. That explained why a demon such as (Y/N) had felt any sort of pain. Humans were incapable of inflicting such torture.

            “Your devotion to your Master has led you into this situation,” said Angela, smirking at the demon.

            “That is due to the contract between the Young Master and myself,” said Sebastian.

            Angela scoffed. “That boy is probably gnashing his teeth by now, painfully realizing his lack of power.” She tipped his chin up with the handle of her whip.

            “Yes, that may well be,” said Sebastian. “Nevertheless, my Young Master will go on even if all his pawns are gone. He will never give up. That’s how my Master is.”

            “How about giving in to lust like a good demon?” cooed Angela, her eyes lidded with a smirk. “In reality, it must be hard for you. By now, you must be starving. You must be so hungry you can hardly stand it. Won’t you make a deal with me, Sebastian? In due course, the true Doomsday will come.” The handle of her whip traced up his abdomen with seductive gentility. “When that happens, I will give you as many souls as you want.” She tilted his chin towards her once again. “Just abandon that child and the cat demon.”

            Sebastian was tempted to roll his eyes. “I must refuse. I have grown weary of eating souls one after another, tasting a little here and a little there. The only one I truly desire is the Young Master. I want no other soul.”

            Angela’s eyes narrowed, and she snapped the whip. It cracked across Sebastian’s chest, opening another cut on his chest. “Unclean, corrupted, impure being!” she hissed. She tsked as she regarded Sebastian. “You’re fortunate I already used my Holy Water on dear (Y/N) or I would properly punish your uncleanliness.”

            Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. That was why (Y/N) had felt pain. Angela had poured holy water on their wounds. The shadows curled at his feet, longing to pull Angela’s heart from her chest.

            “They refused to see sense,” said Angela in frustration. “They refuse the power I can give them by being cleansed; they refuse to gorge themself on souls by leaving you and the child behind.” Angela leaned closer to him. “Why does a being with such potential find themself so loyal to such a depraved creature?”

            Sebastian’s eyes raised to the ceiling as if he could see through stone walls to where (Y/N) was chained. They were…loyal to him? How oddly pleasant. Sebastian felt a twinge of pleasure twist through him, even as Angela whipped him again.

            “What care does one demon have for another?” hissed Angela. “You are selfish creatures of sin.” Her whipping grew more fervent.

            Sebastian smirked. “For all your angelic wisdom, the darkness will forever remain closed to your understanding.”

            Angela glared at him as she reared back and whipped him again. “Filthy! Sinful! Creature!”

            Each blow was ignored as Sebastian’s mind was otherwise engaged. (Y/N) was loyal to him. They were staying by his side. They weren’t abandoning him even if it was the logical choice for their own survival, which was all demons care about. All demons were supposed to care about, that was.

            “I will cleanse them! I will prove purity’s superiority! Angels shall triumph over demons!” cried Angela furiously.

            No. Sebastian smirked as blood dripped from the cuts on his cheeks. No, you will not touch (Y/N). They are mine. They are my demonic friend. No, not friend… Sebastian cared for them, the foolish demon with loyalty to him, who touched his emotions in such strange ways. He would not abandon them.

            Sebastian loved (Y/N).

l

            (Y/N) looked up as the door to their cell opened. They expected either Angela to return or the human torturer and prepared for another round of at least some distraction in their boredom. Their eyes lit up. Sebastian stood in the doorway, his suit mended, skin healed, prepared to go to his contract.

            “Is the Young Lord finally done running around on his own?” said (Y/N).

            “It appears so,” said Sebastian.

            “Finally.” (Y/N) broke the chains around their wrists in an instant. “I was waiting.”

            “Well, it seems you were kept busy,” said Sebastian. He eyed (Y/N)’s wounds, still closing up. The urge to go after Angela and personally pluck her feathers was immense.

            (Y/N) glanced down, and their nose twitched in irritation. “Holy water slowed down my healing. I’ll be fine in a moment.”

            “I look forward to properly ending that troublesome angel,” said Sebastian.

            “Only if I get to help,” said (Y/N).

            Sebastian smirked. “Repair your uniform on the way. A maid of the Phantomhives is capable of it, correct?”

            “Obviously,” said (Y/N).

l

            (Y/N) wasn’t surprised to find Ciel sitting carriage as people shot at him (and Abberline, strangely). It didn’t matter, though. Sebastian and (Y/N) dispatched the people quickly.

            “You’re late,” said Ciel.

            “As are you,” said Sebastian.

            “We were so bored waiting for you,” said (Y/N).

            “It looks like I was somewhat contaminated by that good-natured simpleton,” said Ciel, glancing back at Abberline. “That’s over now, though. Go after Lau. I have no need for a pawn that disobeys the player.”

            “Are you sure, Young Master?” said Sebastian. “This is not an order you can reverse.”

            “Those standing in my way, be they relative or friend, will be removed,” said Ciel sternly.

            Sebastian bowed. “Yes, my Lord.”

            “Ciel!” called Abberline.

            “Don’t come any closer. You will die,” said Ciel coldly. “I am the back, and you the front. We are walking incompatible paths, Abberline.”

l

            “Fire!” ordered Ciel, and (Y/N) let the cannonballs fly at Lau’s ship. They needed to get out some of their anger by killing some disposable humans.

            “They’re distracted, Young Master,” said Sebastian, picking the Earl up and leaping off the castle tower to balance on a cannonball as it flew over the water.

            “Why does it have to be on water?” grumbled (Y/N) with a sigh as they leapt down after him.

            They elegantly jumped to the boat, which was stuck in place now, and promptly dodged an attack from Ran-Mao. The quiet young woman stood holding two large weapons beside her.

            “We shall face her,” said Sebastian, putting Ciel down.

            “Understood,” said Ciel, walking away from the fight.

            “Foes of my brother, I will kill you,” said Ran-Mao.

            “Then let us be foes,” said (Y/N) with a smirk.

            Ran-Mao lunged, but (Y/N) blocked her weapons, and Sebastian hit her back. She pivoted midair and landed a hit on (Y/N)’s side, but Sebastian was still standing. He grabbed one of her weapon’s and whipped her to the side. Ran-Mao dodged to her feet, holding her remaining weapon, but (Y/N) lunged at her, catlike in agility, and pinned her down. Ran-Mao pushed herself back up, but (Y/N)’s grip on her weapon was far stronger. They swung her weapon at her, and Ran-Mao fell backwards to the ground.

            “You have commendable strength in that tiny body of yours,” remarked Sebastian.

            “But in the end, you are only human,” said (Y/N).

            “Would you mind stopping now?” said Sebastian.

            “I cannot stop,” replied Ran-Mao.

            “Sebastian! (Y/N)!” Ciel darted out of the ship’s cabin where he had been confronting Lau.

            “To do this to Ran-Mao…I always wondered. It seems you aren’t really human, Mr. Butler, Mx. Maid,” said Lau as he emerged from the smoke with a sword in hand.

            “Well, that might be the case. After all, we are a hell of a pair of servants,” said Sebastian.

            “Oh? This is interesting, very interesting, Young Earl,” said Lau. “Can a world this interesting actually be reality? I sometimes wonder if I haven’t been dreaming ever since that time, not knowing if I dream of becoming a butterfly or if the butterfly dreams of becoming me.”

            He ran at Ciel, sword drawn. Ran-Mao moved between (Y/N), Sebastian, and Ciel as Lau stabbed at Ciel. But it was not the Earl’s blood that spilled across the deck.

            It was Abberline’s.

            Abberline, fool that he was, stood between Lau and Ciel, the sword piercing his chest.

            “Mr. Policeman, you are in my way,” said Lau.

            He pulled the sword from Abberline’s chest and let him fall to the ground. He raised the weapon again and struck down at Ciel. This time, Sebastian grabbed the flat sides of the blade to stop it, and (Y/N) struck at Lau. The man let go of the weapon and jumped back to avoid the attack. However, (Y/N) had hit true, and blood leaked from a wound on his side.

            “It is magnificent, Young Earl,” said Lau. “It really is an inborn virtue. Or should I say vice?”

            Ciel glared at him. “Lau, you—!”

            “This is the end of this ship as well,” said Lau. Ran-Mao supported him carefully. “You have won the game, Young Earl. It seems I did not have enough strength to become a player. This whole world’s nothing but a butterfly’s dream…” He tipped backwards into the waters below. Whether he or Ran-Mao survived was up to them, but Ciel had won.

            “Hang in there, Abberline,” said Ciel urgently. “Don’t give up!”

            How strange. He knows there’s very little he can do, thought (Y/N).

            “Ciel…I’m glad you weren’t hurt,” said Abberline. “You know, back then, when I lost my family…I, too, thought I would never return, never be able to get it back, but that’s not true. You can take it back.”

            “You’re wrong…!” said Ciel. “I—!”

            “You still have a chance to take back your future,” said Abberline. “Don’t forget that.” He fell limp as rain began to pour.

            “There is no future for me…” murmured Ciel. “In exchange for my future, I…”

            “Young Master,” said Sebastian.

            Ciel glared at him and slapped him. “You erred, Sebastian. Even though my life was in danger, you did nothing.”

            Sebastian smiled. “You were profoundly safe at the time. In fact, no harm came to you, correct? I understood in that moment that Abberline would be your shield.”

            Ciel slapped Sebastian again before turning away to face Abberline’s body. “Abberline. What an idiot you are.”

            “Yes,” murmured Sebastian ever-so-quietly. “An idiot.”

            “To sacrifice oneself for another…how strange,” said (Y/N).

            “Yes,” agreed Sebastian.

            But neither demon was quite sure how they’d act if the other was in true harm’s way.

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[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 26

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: E Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** This chapter may or may not contain a Star Trek reference because why not. I never even watched Star Trek. ***

Raphael held his own.

Later on, telling the story, he would claim he had done a lot more than that. Clearly, the two dozen barbazus and handful of hamantulas had stood no chance against him. He could keep them at bay easily enough, and was simply taking his time savoring each kill. 

Of which, to be fair, there were indeed several. But being swarmed by relentless fighters at close range is the bane of any spellcaster; he may have grown stronger than he was when Mephistopheles first rent him asunder, but he remained a human bard with a few sorcerer tricks, on his own, surrounded by heavily armed infantry with nothing in mind but slaughter. 

From the instant he'd found himself teleported back outside the Fortress, he’d known two things: that the odds were overwhelmingly stacked against him, and that no help would be coming. His companions had remained in the Fortress, dealing with whoever had taken his place, and once they dispatched them… well. They’d forge ahead to Zariel, certainly, to have her take up the sword or take her down if she refused. It would make absolutely no sense to turn back for him: too risky, even if he hadn’t long outgrown his usefulness.

Zariel’s reign would end, one way or another, and they’d be free to leave the Hells. With Raphael gone - this half of him gone - there would be no need to head to Maladomini, no need to find a way into Cania, into Mephistar, into the citadel’s vaults. 

It’s not a deal, the bhaalspawn had said. It’s a promise.

But promises bind no one, promises are hardly worth the breath used to utter them.

What was a promise next to a chance to leave the Hells with all they had come to get, a hard-won victory and a new infernal engine allowing Karlach a life in the sun, with no reason to risk any of it in the deeper layers of the Hells? 

Unfortunate that they could not have him recover Korrilla Hearthflame’s soul as they made him promise - but what did it matter, all things considered? Her soul was inconsequential, and so was his. As the foolish sentimental mortals they were, they may feel guilty, even saddened for leaving without him. They may perhaps even mourn him.

But they would not risk their mission to save him. Even they could not be that stupid.

So he fought like a man who knows no help is coming - viciously and desperately, with all he had. Enemies fell to his spells, others were paralyzed, one came under his control and turned on his own comrades, slaughtering two and making more bleed before being taken down. Half his enemies were down by the time Raphael staggered back, until his back hit a boulder. He pressed a hand on the gaping wound on his side as he muttered his last healing spell, most of his powers spent, but he knew it would perhaps allow him to withstand one more blow at most. The ring of regeneration, too, could only carry him so far.

He held his own. But it was not enough.

“RAAAAAAAAAAH!” One of the barbazus screamed and charged, glaive raised, the venomous tendrils at its chin writhing. The saw-toothed blade seemed to glint against Avernus’ red sky, as it came down onto him and--

And never reached him. There was a sudden squelching noise, then gargling, and the barbazu staggered back, the glaive falling to the ground. Foul-smelling blood poured from its throat, from which something stuck out - the bolt of a crossbow. As the barbazu collapsed and his comrades looked around in seething fury and confusion, Raphael heard it - the sound of beating wings above. He looked up to see a cornugon had landed on the boulder above him, crossbow in hand, an almost manic grin splitting that unfamiliar face. 

A perfect glamor as always, and only their word gave them away. “Pardon the distraction, master,” Haarlep grinned, making a point to meet Raphael’s stunned gaze. They cocked the hand crossbow with practiced ease, and the grin widened. “But I do think you need a little help.”

***

Karlach had really, really hoped to never see Flo’s face again. She’d hoped to never again hear that hyena-like laugh that sounded a lot like a mad gnoll cursed with Tasha’s hideous laughter, and never again hear one of those fucking jokes.

The bitch had good jokes, she had told Durge once, and it was true. They were almost as awful as she was, of course, but funny and gods, everyone needed a laugh in the hells. Now, however - battling Flo and a bunch of guards she’d summoned with a war cry before charging at them, a flaming scimitar in each hand - Karlach was sure as fuck not laughing.

“Flo! What did you do, you piece of--”

Another laugh, and she lifted both scimitars above her head to catch the greataxe before it could erase that fucking grin from her face, alongside-- well. The whole fucking face. “Aww, that’s no way to greet an old friend! I swear, you get a few new buddies and you think you’re so--”

“Fuck you.”

“See, now that’s a better idea! Love the enthusiasm. Is your new boyfriend not delivering?”

Karlach snarled, pulled back the greataxe, and went for a low swing to try and literally take Flo out at the knees. She dodged the blow, still giving that insufferable laugh. Only paces away the others were fighting too - at least a dozen guards, most of them cambions. At least Zariel hadn’t joined the fray, and it was something to be grateful for at least. But it may be a matter of time before she realized what was going on, so they needed to kill off those bastards fast, before they could raise the alarm to the whole damn fortress.

Although she had to admit that watching Mizora cast spells alongside a flying golden elephant was kind of funny. Not something Karlach could have imagined ever happening, even in the hallucinations that sometimes followed the wildest parties with several barrels of infernal wine involved.

“Almost sad to see you have fallen so low, Miz!” Flo called out. “So all along, Karlach’s little helper was your warlock? Didn’t see it coming, I must admi--”

There was a snarl, a crackle of electricity, and one of the guards let out a strangled cry before staggering back, dazed-- right into the jaws of the world’s best cave bear. Durge didn’t turn to look at the ensuing bloodbath; their gaze was fixed on Flo, eyes burning. 

“Where is he?”

Flo grinned, and ducked under Wyll’s blast. She was relatively small, for a cambion, but really fucking fast. It made trying to hit her frustratingly difficult. “Oh, the friend of yours who was wearing this ring? Not too far from where he stood when he put it on, I’d imagine. We caught his replacement pretty quickly. Made her talk quickly, too. But don’t worry, he’s not alone! A couple dozen friends will be keeping him company for a bit. I bet they’ll get along just fine. The guys may even take a few pieces of him as souvenirs of the good times.”

“Hah! As if! Fucker took down an Orthon on his own. He's probably making your little friends do a little dance before he turns them all to jelly,” Karlach sneered, ducking under a swinging halberd and throwing an axe to the head of the unfortunate son of a bitch wielding it. To be honest, she wasn’t nearly as sure of Raphael’s victory as she wanted to sound like. Flo never went on patrol with less than a couple dozen fuckers, and she knew many enemies at once are worse than a single powerful one - but she’d be damned if she let that bitch see that she was worried.

… All right, maybe ‘worried’ was a strong word. It was Raphael, after all. They had the sword, they were headed for Zariel, and his absence wouldn’t make that much of a difference when it came to their odds of either talking her into surrender or killing her. His death would be really convenient, too. No need to go to Cania, no need to get the other half of his soul, no way for him to be whole again - a whole ass devil who’d immediately try to find ways to screw them over, or get out of his oath to never bother Hope again. 

No Raphael, no problem. No reason to be concerned, if one thought about it logically. But Karlach had never been a creature of logic and it pissed her off, really, realizing that she actually was worried.

All right, new plan. Durge’s the one who’s invested here. Tell yourself you’re actually worried for their sake, girl. Easy peasy. No uneasy questions. Totally did not fall for the trap of giving a fuck about a devil again.

Unaware of her thoughts, and of course unaware of who their companion actually was, Flo laughed. Again. Had there really been a time when she’d liked that laugh? Found it charming, laughed along, awakened to it after a few especially ill-advised nights together? Ugh. Infernal wine was her only excuse, really. That, and loneliness - she was rarely ever alone in the ten years she’d spent in the Hells and yet she’d never been so lonely, yearning for a single kind touch.

A bad mix, all of that. It will fuck you up for a really long time. 

“Ah, I missed you, really,” Flo muttered, parrying one of Astarion’s arrows with a casual flick of a scimitar. Karlach scoffed, gripping her greataxe more tightly. 

“As fucking if,” she said, but of course the worst part of it - the thing that gnawed at her - was that she knew it was true. Devils may twist the truth all the time, but they rarely ever lie. Flo had missed her, and she’d missed fucking around with her and she’d missed fucking her up, and it was all the same to her. A devil can like you and a devil can miss you, and none will make a difference. Not in Avernus, not in the Hells.  

A devil will never not break your heart. The leopard with the spots, the scorpion and the frog and all that.

Flo sighed, and had little to no reaction when Lulu somehow blasted an enemy across the room, to slam against the wall a little to her left. For a small, fuzzy flying elephant, she kicked some serious ass. 

“Ah, don’t be like that. You know it’s true. I’m going to kill you and bring your head to Zariel along with Miz’s and everyone else’s here, but I will sniffle while I do it. Honest. Actually, tell you what - turn on them. Help me finish them off and restrain the hollyphant. I tell Zariel you were a good girl, and we take Mizzy’s pla--”

There was a scoff, and a sizzling orb flew past Karlach to hit Flo square in the chest. She yelped and jumped backwards, clearly having taken some damage. Mizora turned to Wyll, a hand still raised. Some distance away, Astarion had slit the throat of another guard, who fell lifelessly. “Pet, will you do something about that pest?” she demanded, and Wyll growled.

“I am trying!”

He was locked in combat with another guard, but he found an opening quickly enough: he raised his rapier to block a blow, and blasted the guard in the chest from close range. The first blast only caused him to grunt in pain, but the second threw him back against the wall, sword falling from his hand. 

No fucking wonder Flo’s trying to make a deal with me now, Karlach thought. They were winning, and fast. Durge in particular was fighting as though they followed Bhaal still, lips pulled back to uncover gleaming fangs, blood splatters across their face and armor. They looked more a berserker than they did a sorcerer, that was for sure. Whatever the Slayer form Bhaal had offered them once even was, Karlach thought, it probably paled compared to the damage they were doing now.

“Not fucking likely,” Karlach finally spoke, and charged with a cry. A swing of her greataxe did graze Flo’s arm, but the next blow was blocked by both of her scimitars. They locked eyes, and Flo sneered. 

“Oh, come on. Is it for the pretty boy? The horns ain’t even that impressive. You think you’re a princess now, or what? Offense fully intended, but you’re not the kind of gal who catches the eye of white knights, you get my--”

A well-placed Eldritch blast cut her off, throwing her back before she finished the sentence, and before Karlach could drop the weapon and just bite her fucking nose off. Karlach turned to see Wyll standing just behind her, rapier in hand and the other still raised. 

“Sorry, but I’m neither, ” he declared, looking stupid handsome as he did because of course. It took Karlach’s mind a moment to catch up, another moment to groan at the joke, and all of her willpower - Wyllpower? Oh gods it’s contagious isn’t it - not to kiss him right there and then. 

Instead, she ducked under a spear that entirely missed Halsin’s bear form - bit of a feat, that - and tightened the grip on the greataxe, turning to face Flo again. She was standing, wiping some blood from a cut on her cheek. 

“You know, come to think of it, I didn’t take the time to officially give you guys my resignation. That was it,” she informed me. “I’m not coming back. Never. So, counteroffer - back off now, Flo. Give us the ring, get the fuck out of here, and I won’t have to splatter your brains all over my new boots.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then Flo laughed. “Oh, this ring?” she asked, and Karlach instantly knew she had made a mistake. She took it off her finger, threw it in the air, and Durge’s warning cry came too late. Flo had always favored her scimitars, or a garrote if she could take her time, but she could also hit any target with her spells from a mile away and this was no exception. Before any of them could do anything, a splash of acid hit the ring, and that-- well, what was that thing that Raphael always said? That was it, sweetie. Or something to that effect. At the moment, recalling the exact words was not at the forefront of Karlach’s mind.

Shit. Shit. Shit. How the fuck to we get him back now?

There was a cry of fury, and the crack of lighting rushing past Karlach, right at Flo. She managed to mostly dodge it - it only grazed at her arm - and two cambions were on Durge the next moment, keeping them from having a go at her again.

From her part. Flo twirled her scimitars, looked back at her, and… she did not laugh. For the first and only time, Karlach was sure she had seen something a lot like regret twist Florenta’s features for a moment before she sighed. “A damn shame, if you ask me. We could have gone really far, you and I.”

“... Not in the direction I want.”

“You don’t want to kill me.”

“I’ll do it if I’ve got to.”

“But you don’t want to. That was always your problem, you know.”

Not looking too eager to kill me either, Karlach thought. But she didn’t say it out loud, because it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter. She would do it anyway, if she got the chance. So she wasn’t going to give her that fucking chance.

I die or you die. It’s how war goes and I don’t think you’ve ever known anything else, Flo. But I do, and I want it back.

Karlach let out a roar and charged, her boots pounding the ground only inches from the puddle of acid where a ring lay, half-melted and beyond salvaging.

***

“Detono!”

Raphael’s last thunderwave hit two barbazus as well as the last hamatula standing. It killed none of them, but it did knock them back; with his magic well and truly spent now, a few cantrips aside, putting some distance between himself and his enemies was the priority. The longer he could keep them at bay without being hit, the more the ring of regeneration could heal him. Admittedly, keeping them at bay was easier now that they also had to look out for a winged fiend well out of range of their glaives or spikes, raining crossbow bolts down on them with frankly astounding accuracy for someone who had first picked a weapon up a tenday earlier. A distraction, indeed. Raphael suspected that in the unlikely case they survived this, Haarlep would demand an apology.

How very vexing.

“So, my little brat! How does it feel to be wrong yet again?”

“I’ll have you know I was handling it perfectly fine!” Raphael snapped, trying - and failing - to ascertain whether his ankle was broken or just sprained. It hurt like-- well, it hurt, but he could still put some weight on that foot. He grimaced and stepped further back from his opponents just as Haarlep laughed, easily dodging a few rocks thrown at him by seething barbazus. 

“You have a curious definition of perfectly fine. Not that the bleeding and bruised look doesn’t look great on you, but I rather like it best when I’m the one to--”

There was a hoarse cry, and the hamantula cast a fireball straight at them. It hit the mark, causing Haarlep to yelp and almost tumble out of the sky… but only almost. They recovered quickly with a couple of powerful beats of the wings of their borrowed form, and gave a sound that was half a laugh, half a sigh. 

“Fire? Seriously?” they muttered, and Raphael sighed, looking over at the hamantula. It was grimacing, and seemed to be barely standing.

“Barrel-sharp, the wit on you,” he muttered, and the fiend let out a groan before collapsing at last, causing the barbazus to look at it in confusion and Haarlep to whistle. 

“Wait, did it just drop dead because you insulted it?”

“It does occur, upon occasion.”

“How…?”

“Bard.”

“It wasn’t even that good an insul--”

“Be glad I killed it before it could summon more, you ungrateful--”

“ Ungrateful, the brat calls me! Oh, I have half a mind to leave you here and see how you--”

There was another cry, and the remaining barbabazu - having clearly decided they had contemplated the body of their fallen comrade much too long - charged. 

A crossbow dart found its way into the throat of another, and downed it, but it was not enough; there were still too many left, against only the two of them, with Raphael barely standing. He was just about able to throw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the glaive, and grasped the barbazu’s shoulder before it could try to strike again. “Fulgur,” he hissed, and the enemy let out a scream when electricity coursed through its body. It jerked, and Raphael retreated his hand… but not quickly enough. 

One of the venomous tendrils at the fiend’s chin grazed at his arm. It tore a cry from him, plus a few curses for good measure. He staggered back, the venom already making him feel dizzy. It didn’t end him, but it took away part of what little health the ring had given him back. He leaned against the side of the cliff he’d been backed up against with a groan, his vision swimming. 

He did not see the glaive coming, but he certainly felt it. The blade slashed across his chest, throwing him to the ground. Raphael cried out, reaching up to uselessly try and stem the blood that soaked through his blazer. If not for the blade ward he’d cast earlier, saving him some damage, it may have been his end. Not that it was likely to make a difference now. 

Above him stood another barbazu, weapon in hand - and Raphael found he was too weak to even raise his own hand in defense, let alone trying to counter. He closed his eyes when, with a cry of savage rage, the glaive was raised above his head.

It never came down. 

This time there was no crossbow dart, no safely shooting from a distance. Only a sudden rush of wings, something landing heavily on top of the seething barbazu, knocking the glaive from its hand. Raphael opened his eyes, still barely able to put what he was seeing into focus. There was Haarlep between him and the enemy, grasping its head and sinking their thumbs into its eyes, heedless of the venomous tendrils whipping at their arms.

Dark blood filled up sockets where eyes had been, and the creature shrieked. There were more shrieks, and suddenly the fight was up close and vicious, one incubus swarmed by too many armed opponents.

It was an unequal fight by any measure, a creature made to warm beds against several beings meant to spill blood on the battlefield and never stop until the enemy was dead or they were. Soon enough there was a cry of pain, the shimmer of a glamor fading away just as the ring of regeneration granted Raphael a little more strength, a little more time, a few more breaths to draw before the inevitable end. His vision clearing, he saw that Haarlep was back to their own form now that the glamor was gone, bleeding heavily. They looked small compared to the barbazus, the vicious shock troops of Baator.

Imbecile. This utter imbecile. They stand no chance.

“Haarlep,” he managed, lifting himself up on his elbows. There was blood in his mouth and each word came out as a gargle, but he was beyond caring as long as he had enough breath in him to give that dolt one last order. “Fly.”

Despite the many japes about incubi which were heard through the Hells on how intellect is not what one seeks from them, the simple truth was that most such jabs were unfounded. Incubi were far from stupid; on the contrary, most of them were indeed intelligent and manipulative. Haarlep was no exception. It was how, for so many centuries, they’d managed to obey Raphael’s direct orders while still doing essentially whatever they wished; how they always skirted the line, never overstepping but always getting what they were after. 

They were not stupid. They knew exactly what Raphael wanted them to do. They just chose to ignore him in a way which would allow them to argue, on a technicality, that they had obeyed. Raphael told them to fly off, and fly off they did. But first, they grabbed him. 

Raphael’s attempt at a protest - you’ll never make it - was drowned out by his own groan of pain, and he found himself limp in Haarlep’s grasp as they took flight, holding him tight against their chest. He let his head roll against Haarlep’s shoulder, and closed his eyes.

They could have made it, if they’d been flying unburdened, but they were not. As predicted, they did not get far.

A glaive is no spear, and it is not meant to be thrown like one. It would have taken great skill, or great luck, for the blade to find its target as Haarlep tried to fly off while clutching Raphael. Raphael would never know whether the devil who’d made the throw was very skilled, or very lucky. It made no difference either way. 

The tip of the blade struck Haarlep’s back just between the wings, tearing a cry out of their throat. For a few moments they managed to remain airborne - a few more beats of the wings, some more distance between themselves and their pursuers - but soon enough, they crashed to the ground. Something in Raphael’s left arm snapped, and he barely felt it. Whether it was the venom, the exhaustion, the knowledge of his impending end, a broken arm seemed a trivial matter indeed.

Haarlep rolled on their side with a grunt, the tip of the glaive still burrowed into their back. Their face was bruised, hair matted with blood. They opened their eyes and met Raphael’s gaze. They grimaced. “Ah, my little brat,” they groaned. “I don’t think I can get up.”

Raphael scoffed, and forced himself to shift closer across the rocky ground, his every nerve crying out in pain, just enough to drop his forehead against their chest. “You imbecile,” he rasped. “You should have kept away. You were safe.”

“Oh, come now. And miss…” A pained hiss, and a hand rested on Raphael’s cheek. It was sticky with blood. “And miss all the fun?

“You have a dubious definition of fun.”

“You didn’t see… your face… when I showed up.”

Half his ribs were shards of pain, and still Raphael chuckled. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the shouts of approaching enemies. They’d seen them fall and would be on them within minutes, ready to finish them both off.

And that, love, was that.

With a shaky breath, he closed his eyes. “Lie to me,” he whispered.

Haarlep let out a chuckle of their own.  “You’re… amazing in bed. Best lover I’ve ever had.”

Raphael groaned. “Haarlep,” he ground out, only for the incubus to scoff.

“Tell me… what you want to hear.”

“You know--”

“Say it.”

They were closer now, stepping heavily on the rocky terrain. It would be a matter of moments before they were found. Raphael squeezed his eyes shut and for the first time in nearly two millennia he spoke the words plainly, if in a whisper. “... Tell me you love me.”

For a moment, there was no reply. Only the hand on his cheek moving to cradle the back of his head, lips pressing against the bridge of his nose. “But, my little brat,” Haarlep sighed. “You have asked for a lie.”

***

Miracles had always been in short supply in the Hells, small or otherwise. That never kept Karlach from hoping, though, because you never know. Elturel getting saved and returned to the Material Plane was a big miracle, for one. The Nautiloid appearing in Avernus out of thin air, her ticket out of there, had been another; tadpole and all, she still counted it as a blessing.

That time, there had been a small miracle, but it was all right. It was exactly what Karlach had been hoping for: when Florenta the Garroter died, it was not by her hand.

It was more than a little anticlimactic, really, just like it had been with Gortash. He got hit one too many times, he fell, and that was it; she was left staring at a corpse that would yield no more apologies than he did when he lived, waiting for a sense of vindication that never came.

With Flo, she didn’t even see her fall: when it happened she was burying her axe into the skull of another guard who’d tried to catch by surprise from behind and wasn’t quite sneaky enough to pull it off. The last guard, which only left Flo herself to take down. 

Or so she thought until she turned and there she was on the ground, throat slit, Astarion still standing over her with a dagger in each hand.

Well. It was always gonna happen, Karlach supposed. It wasn’t even her first rodeo: she’d had comrades turn on her in the heat of battle, hoping to kill her off and take her place as Zariel’s favorite attack dog like the position was anything to be coveted. Flo thought it was hilarious when it happened. She’d had to kill each one of them, and left them on the ground in a pool of blood, letting demons take the blame. This was about the same.

The sensation of a cold hand clenching around her stomach was new, though.

A few paces away, only a few tears in her dress and hair just slightly out of place, Mizora smiled down at Flo. “And so this ends, finally. I must say, I’m surprised. A loose cannon like yourself, dying to protect the mistress. I always thought you were more likely to try and stab her in the back because someone dared you to.” 

The inconvenience of actively dying did not deter Flo from grinning up at her with bloodied teeth. The hand she was pressing on her slit throat did not stanch much blood nor would it save her, but it helped her voice come out, if in a raspy whisper. 

“I’m more surprised… to see you here. You were always… first in line… to kiss her ass. She still wouldn’t… touch you, though. Stings, doesn’t it?”

Mizora did not snap back; she had too much self-control to take that kind of bait, however certain Karlach was that there was some truth to it. Mizora had always worshipped the ground Zariel walked on. It was the main reason why Karlach was willing to believe Raphael’s assertion that the order to oust Zariel came from Asmodeus himself, really. There was no other being who could make Mizora turn on her mistress. Looking back, her excuse that she wanted to keep Zariel from figuring out whose warlock Wyll was had always been weak.

And she really didn’t push back against the idea of removing her without killing her.

Unaware of her thoughts, Mizora scoffed at the dying cambion. “I doubt it stings as much as the cut on your throat. I’ll very much enjoy watching as you die slowly before we’re off to--”

“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll tear you a brand new asshole.”

Mizora trailed off, and cast an annoyed look at Karlach. “Spoken like a true lady as always,” she muttered, gaining herself a scoff. 

“You bring up Graz'zt's cock a bit too often to protest my language,” Karlach shot back, and knelt by Flo’s side. She met her gaze, and grinned again. It was weak, though. Little more than a grimace, as the pool of blood grew wider. 

“Kinda sucks, doesn’t it? Would have… liked it, if it… if it was you, to do this.”

“... I am glad it wasn’t me,” was all Karlach could say. She tried to keep her voice even, but it sounded strained to her own ears. Flo must have picked it up, or maybe she just grew weaker. Her grin wavered before returning. Weaker, weaker, weaker. Her voice was starting to sound more and more like a gargle as what blood was not escaping her body filled her lungs.

 “Ah well. You were never… one for the Hells. Kind of… kind of funny, though.” A shuddering breath. “A vampire… got me… at the throat. A bit… on the nose, don’t you… don’t you think?”

“Yeah. Funny,” Karlach heard herself saying, her voice flat. Her eyes were already starting to sting. She felt, distantly, Wyll’s hand on her shoulder.

“... Heh. Horrible… liar.” A groan, and she closed her eyes. Her chest rose in a shuddering breath. “East,” she whispered. “East of… the big boulder. Where I put… the ring on.”

“Flo…”

“So which… which is it gonna be? Your friend, or-- or Zariel? Go on and-- pick--” She laughed, or tried to. She mostly coughed up blood; the hand at her throat fell away onto the ground, and didn’t move again. Just like that, with one last stab in the back disguised as helpfulness, it was over. But her little cry would have to wait. Karlach stood, breathed in, and looked up. Her hand went to cover Wyll’s own on her shoulder.

“Karlach...” Halsin began, but she shook her head - not now, can’t afford to linger on it now - and looked at Durge instead. 

“Raphael could still be alive, he’s a tough fucker. But if you don't help, he won’t stay alive long. East of the big rock we hid behind, easy enough.”

Durge met her gaze, looking so oddly lost. They wanted to help her and Wyll take Zariel down; they also wanted to go help Raphael. She saw the conflict play out on their face for a few moments before they shook their head. “... No. I didn’t come all this way to abandon you at the last hurdle. If Zariel doesn’t  attune to the sword, you’ll have to fight. It must be all of us.”

“She will take up the sword!” Lulu interjected, as though offended Durge had any doubts. “I have no doubt, the old her is still in there! We won’t have to fight at all. She’ll listen to me. It’s the power of friendship,” she declared, fluttering just above the corpse of the only creature in Avernus Karlach had sort of called friend, once, as close to one as Avernus could offer. Flo for one would have found it hilarious

Karlach sort of wanted to throw up, but that would have to wait too. She forced herself to turn away, back to Durge. “See, what she says. We got the magic sword and the hollyphant, and-- the power of fucking frienship, I guess. We’ve basically already won. Or… at least we’ve got a shot. Raphael doesn’t stand a chance on his own out there.”

Durge seemed to hesitate before lowering their gaze. “He could already be dead,” they replied, their voice somewhat hollow. “And either way, we cannot simply leave the Fortress--”

“Mizora can,” Wyll spoke, and turned to her. “You can take Durge where Raphael is, no?”

Mizora, who’d been silent throughout their discussion, looked back at him almost pityingly. “I thought you were at least moderately clever, my pet,” she sighed. “Of course I can teleport myself and a few of you out of here if needed, but you cannot seriously be thinking of doing something so stupid. Has the celestial here done something to your brains? You want to split our forces - for what? Remnants of one of Mephistopheles’ bastards? He's inconsequential.”

Halsin scowled. “I have yet to meet someone who is truly inconsequential,” he replied.

Mizora gave them all a long-suffering look. “Spoken like a real tree hugger. He’s but a pawn, and pawns are sacrificed when needed. In your place, he wouldn't be even thinking of going back for you. He’d sacrifice you all at the first chance he--”

“He can’t be all that inconsequential, if he’s vital to whatever Asmodeus is brewing in Cania.” Astarion spoke suddenly, causing Mizora to turn so quickly it was a wonder she did not hurt her neck. She blinked, and Astarion grinned. “Oh, were you not aware? Guess it’s on a need-to-know basis and you did not need to know. But we have it on good authority that something is indeed going down in Cania, too, and Raphael is expected to play a part once the business with Zariel is concluded. Of course, he won’t be able to play any part if he dies here because you refused to cooperate. Why do they call Asmodeus the Raging Fiend, I wonder? Is that something you’re planning to find out yourself?”

Mizora stared a moment, and narrowed her eyes. “... You’re lying.”

Astarion tilted his head. “Am I? Maybe. Maybe not. You’re welcome to test that assumption.”

She did not, in the end, want to test that assumption. With a groan, she reached up to rub her face. “The headache you idiots are giving me-- ugh. Very well. I will take two of you outside where Mephisto’s brat was taken, and that will be it. Once there, you’re on your own. I’ll return here immediately, and we will press on for Zariel.”

Astarion grinned. “Ah, sounds perfect,” he declared, and turned to Durge. “Well then, it seems it will be the two of us.”

For a moment, Durge said nothing. He looked back at them and Karlach could tell they were trying to gauge whether the four of them - herself, Wyll, Halsin and Lulu, plus probably Mizora - would stand any chance of victory in case Zariel turned out to be beyond saving. They looked pained, as though put before an impossible choice. 

“Give us the sword, and go,” Wyll spoke, kindly. “I am pretty confident about our odds, whatever turn this takes. This would be far from the first time we split up, after all. It always did work out in our favor.”

Finally, slowly, Durge reached into their bag of holding and pulled out the sword, still holding it by the handle. “Be careful,” they said, and held it up. Lulu immediately went to grab it.

“We’ll end this, I promise! Now go and find your friend. We can all celebrate once it’s done!”

Durge turned to look at Karlach and Wyll. She nodded. “We’ll sort this out. You go pull that asshole out of whatever mess he got himself into.”

“Oh, we’ll do that. Even if I’d make him squirm a bit first,” Astarion muttered, and that was it. Mizora disappeared alongside him and Durge to reappear after only a couple of minutes, alone, her mouth pulled into a tight line.

“They’re off to their idiotic rescue mission,” she ground out. “Now, for Graz'zt's-- for Asmodeus’ sake, let's keep moving and finish this.”

They did keep moving, with Wyll once again pretending to be Karlach's captor and Halsin pretending to be in control of a chained Lulu, the Sword of Zariel at his back. Karlach walked on with her gaze locked dead ahead of her, ignoring Flo’s corpse and the ache where a true heart used to be.

***

You have asked for a lie.

As soon as the words rang out something clenched painfully in Raphael’s chest, constricted his throat. He forced his breath out as a dry sob which he choked against Haarlep’s skin, pressing his face against their throat. “Imbecile,” he repeated, his only functional arm reaching to grasp them, to hold tight. He felt them rest their chin atop his head, and something dripped from beneath his eyelids. 

A shameful display for any self-respecting devil, but what did it matter? None was close enough to hear and he was about to die. They were about to die. There would never be another chance, and that wretched human soul he was trapped with needed it like breathing. That wretched human blood in him, that heritage which so stubbornly refused to die, had always needed it like breathing.

Well, there it was. He had it. And he only knew it now that he was about to die. How poetic, and what an utter joke. An accurate assessment of his entire existence if there ever was one.

“Am I your imbecile, though, aren't I?” Haarlep asked, and Raphael could only mouth the reply against their skin - yes - as steps came closer. There was a growl, orders barked in the guttural Infernal of the lesser baatezu, but Raphael did not look up. Which was a sound decision, he’d find out later, as if he had he might have needed a cure for blindness if he had.

The lighting came first, a burst of bright light that was met with pained screeches and seething fury. And then came the thunder, loud enough to shake the ground as though the sky itself had fallen upon them. Raphael could taste ozone on his tongue, feel the electricity in the air, and he knew instantly what it had to be.

It cannot be. They cannot be--

But he knew what he’d see before he even looked up, still holding onto Haarlep. He’d witnessed that display of raw power before, seen and heard it. He’d seen the charred corpses it left in its wake and he saw charred corpses now, too - all that remained of at least three barbazus, one of them still clutching its weapon. And amidst those corpses there they stood, electricity still dancing between their fingers and fire burning in furnace red eyes - the heart of the storm.

Raphael opened his mouth, but he could force out no sound; for a change, neither could Haarlep. For a few moments, all they could do was stare, trying to make sense of what they were seeing, of the dawning realization that perhaps that would not be the day they died after all. Raphael was still trying to formulate words, any words, when one of the remaining barbazus let out a cry and charged at Durge. 

It barely took a couple of steps before an arrow went right through its skull from behind, bursting out of its forehead and turning it into some sort of macabre mockery of an unicorn. As the fiend collapsed, Raphael looked over to see a familiar face grinning at him with much too sharp canines. 

“Why, hello.” Astarion’s grin widened, and he threw something at them. “Missed us?”

Haarlep caught the potion of healing in mid-air and laughed, their voice still hoarse. “Oh, I’d kiss you on the mouth right about now.”

“Let’s not do that, but I appreciate the thought. What are you doing here, by the way?”

“I could ask you the same, darling,” Haarlep sing-sang. “But the answer is the same too, isn’t it? Can’t let this little brat get hurt too badly.”

“Not exactly I'd put it but that’s about it, yes. Now, if you don’t mind, we have a few devils to-- ah, come on. Only these ones? You had most of the fun already!”

Once again, Raphael had objections to the definition of fun the spawn and the incubus clearly shared, but he did not voice them. After taking a swig from the potion, Haarlep pressed the bottle against his lips, and he drank as well. It took effect mercifully quickly and allowed him to sit up, leaning heavily on Haarlep. They folded a wing over him as they sat together, watching the battle unfold. It was clear it would not be a long one. Raphael tore his gaze off Durge and reached for Haarlep’s hand. He found it, and held onto it.

They held it back but, to his relief, they said nothing. They would talk later, they would have to-- surely they did not mean it, surely it was only something they said because they thought they were both about to die, they were not supposed to survive and live with it -- but not now. Not while he still struggled to wrap his mind around what they’d said earlier, around the fact they were both still alive to deal with those words.

And around the fact that the two idiots currently mowing down the last few enemies had actually left the Flying Fortress, and perhaps doomed their entire mission, solely to find him.

Over the centuries, Raphael had become accustomed to being right far more often than not. Being proven wrong time and time again - they could, indeed, be that stupid - was annoying, to say the least. Infuriating, really - for it could only be fury that tightened his throat and made something in his chest to clench. By the time Durge and Astarion finished off the last enemy before it could run off and seek reinforcements, anger was blurring his vision as well. 

“... Raphael?” Haarlep called out, a note of concern to their voice, but Raphael heard little over the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. He stood abruptly when those two idiots approached, ignored the still injured ankle to march up to Durge and jab a finger against their chest. 

“What were you thinking, you utter imbecile!”

Durge blinked, taken aback. Beside them, Astarion scoffed. “What happened to your manners, devil? How about a thank--”

“What happened to whatever modicum amount of intellect you used to have!”

“Hey now, my little bra--”

“You as well! You almost died - a devil killed in Baator is gone for good! What made you think it would be a bright idea to come after me!” 

Raphael’s snarl caused Haarlep to recoil. Or at least, he thought they did. He was breathing fast, his vision growing blurrier, and perhaps the thing gripping his throat and chest was not all anger after all. He wiped his eyes furiously before turning back to glare at Durge.

“And you! You’re not supposed to be here! You were in the Fortress! What of your damned mission, what of Zariel? Is it not the entire reason you're here, the entire reason for all this!”

The dragonborn looked back at him, infuriatingly calm. There was a cut on their forehead, where a blade must have grazed them. “The others will be able to handle it, I am sure. They agreed to split so that we could come find you. We cannot make you whole again if either half of you dies, after all,” they added, as though it made sense that any one of them would agree to such an idiotic plan, such a risky gamble.

“Simple enough, really,” Astarion muttered with a shrug. “We all get out of the Hells, or none of us does. It was not my style, I’ll admit, but what can I say? My little bhaal-babe here is persuasive. Now, I’m going to check if any of these gentlemen had anything worth taking. Do feel free to have your spat without me.”

Raphael had been around too long not to know mortals were prone to that special brand of foolishness; he’d taken advantage of such noble sentiments more times than he could count. But they would always be for other mortals - for a spouse or a child, for a lover or a brother or sister or friend. Ravengard had been ready to entirely lose himself for the sake of Karlach; every one of the others had come to the Hells solely to help them. He knew now that those idiots were willing to risk it all for one another, but certainly not for the sake of-- of--

What you want is very human of you, little duke.

You're loved here.

Those with human blood crave it more than most, I found. 

Tell me you love me.

You have asked for a lie.

“Why! Your best chance to wash your hands of me, and you-- all of you, the worst gaggle of imbeciles in all the Planes--”

He did not get to say anything else. Durge reached out and pulled him close, tight enough that for a moment Raphael could feel nothing their heartbeat against his cheek, the hand cradling the back of his head . He closed his eyes with a shaky breath and for a moment he felt like a boy of thirteen again, in the grasp of a mortal who’d lost the light of his life to him and still put that frail body of his between him and danger.

“Are you all right, boy? Were you hurt?”

There was another touch, arms around his waist, the unmistakable heat of a Haarlep’s chest against his back. “What can I say, my little brat?” They murmured against his ear. “It seems you’re irresistible to imbeciles everywhere.”

“I… you…”

Durge chuckled, a deep rumbling sound in their chest. “We promised,” was all they murmured, and Raphael broke. But for once, it was all right.

The grip around him was tight enough to keep all the pieces together for as long as needed.

*** Raphael, an idiot: "They cannot possibly be stupid enough to save me" The Gang, also idiots: "Hold our beer" ***

[Back to Chapter 25]

[On to Chapter 27]

[Back to Start]

[shieldkeeper]

Writing Prompt: Morsel Word Count: 774 (Voidsent AU) ---> masterlist

Deep within the dark depths of the void were a whole world’s worth of voidsent. Malignant creatures who’s worth surmounted to their power and how much they controlled within their grasps. The more power you had, the more land and other voidsent were under your control. Those at the top could even have it in them to have their own domain seeping with their power… those that were not to be so easily trifled with.

Serphiantis was one of those few who were teeming with power. His domain a perfect habitat where he ruled in deep depths of dark murky waters. Voidsent who thrived in such waters also sought to thrive in his domain where they could not be so easily defeated—not when they could manipulate such a world to their advantage against your typical land reliant enemy. And manipulate the domain Serphiantis did… nigh impossible to be defeated should one dare to try.

However, his hunger for more power could not be satiated. He desired to claw his way into the Source much like any other voidsent. To sup upon bountiful aether and cause untold havoc among that mortal realm. This dark prince of a voidsent desiring only the best of the best as well—he would not answer the call lest there were royal blood up for grabs. A summoner worth forging a pact that could benefit him greatly and his peculiar tastes.

Before the War of the Magi would come to fruition in its entirety, twas a time where the voidsent were being summoned left and right to prepare for their feast. Serphiantis bided his time and awaited for the moment he had always been waiting for. To hear the call of a powerful summoner with the blood fit for royalty. To have his moment where his power would grow to even greater heights.

That call came from an absurdly rare point of contact. From Nym of all places. That in itself was a temptation impossible to ignore. A place wholly untapped by Mhach and one that could tip it ever further in their favor. Then… he smelled it. The summoner… or someone near the summoner… had what he had been waiting for. That undeniable aroma of potential power.

He clawed his way through that void portal which called upon him. Practically licking his lips as he traveled to that point betwixt worlds and entered the fabled Source. Arriving upon a world he had yet to know.

On his arrival… before him was a mysterious summoner. One who did not interest him in the slightest. Though there was bountiful aether surrounding this woman, she was of regular stature. Someone who wouldn’t get him far at all.

Nay. He sensed something far more delectable nearby. Hiding in the surrounding brush and thinking themselves invisible to his senses. Hah! Serphiantis marked the hidden princess easily as he turned her way. Something that the original summoner noticed all too late as he made a break and slithered the opposite way.

“Princess, please stand back…!” The summoner cried out as she tried to regain the voidsent’s attention—but to no avail as a sinister sneer ripped across his features.

“Royal blood! I sense it! And I would have of it my all!”

In a flash, it seemed as though Serphiantis swam through the air as it raced towards a miss Mylili.

The moment the voidsent descended—the pact was sealed. No longer confined to the voidsent world as he reached into the depths of Mylili’s soul… only to find himself incredibly wanting as there was but the smallest pool of aether. None worth gorging on… and definitely not enough to supply his thirst for power nor making use of his otherworldly abilities. The voidsent seethed as he let out a foul cry.

“You witches deceived me…!”

He had been tricked. Him… the most calculating of voidsent who had waited the longest for this moment. Fooled with the scent of royal blood. The girl couldn’t contain his presence either. His power far too much that it nearly drowned her essence out. The pact had been formed, yet he could not merge fully within her soul. Practically forced to retain his outside form with no place to go.

“Serves you right…” The princess muttered before slipping into unconsciousness. Which sent Serphiantis into a wild rage.

There was nothing he could do. In fact, he had been caged here. In the dangerous land of Nym where his kind were unwelcomed. Forced to make do with so tiny a morsel that left him so, so wanting.

Serphiantis would make this young princess’s life a nightmare worth reckoning for.

[gamequoteshowdown]

WARNING THIS POLL CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE FOLLOWING GAMES: Dark Souls II

Quote 1: "Men are props on the stage of life, and no matter how tender, how exquisite... a lie will remain a lie." - Aldia, Scholar of the First Sin, Dark Souls II

Quote 2: "My mortal enemy, Chang'e. Are you watching? Look at the numerous lives and deaths, the impurities, this poor soul brings!" - Junko, Toujou 15: Legacy of Lunatic Kingfom

Propaganda under cut

Quote 1: The “lie” Aldia speaks of is life itself. It's fragile, fleeting, and ultimately an illusion. The gameplay mechanic of respawning is an in-universe occurrence, brought upon by the Curse of Hollowing that ages humanity for eternity, while the mind continues to wither to nothingness. The “Light” is the brief conscious existence we have, whereas the “Dark” is the eternity of the Soul. Humans live in ignorance, believing that by the blessing of the gods they are mortal, and will dream of eternal rest someday, only to realize that there will never be such a grace. Aldia is arguably the smartest character introduced in the entire series, monologues some of the most profound and layered dialogue it has to offer, claims the final boss role of the game if you exhaust all of his speeches, and then literally never appears ever again. This is one hell of a character. Don't ask about the monstrous and cruel human experimentation it took to get here.

Quote 2: No propaganda :(

@ascendeddragonsage

[mogwaei]

[Dragon Age: Ouroboros Codex - Precipice]

~

[Fen’Harel ⚔ Ouroboros]

The bad ending.

(codex text below cut)

“You are my dream. When you think yourself a nightmare, becoming or living one…remember that.”

He gripped her one hand, heart lurching, “How would you stop it? If it exists within me?”

Her mouth twitched, briefly in to something forlorn, “Let our tower protect you from it. You say I am a knight? Then you will have my sword and shield. Slip through the secret door and be free. I will follow, when I can.”

The simplicity of her answer stunned him into a silence of deep contemplation and he could only watch her walk away, returning to the camp alone. A tower to protect us from ourselves. Swords to cleave through the darkness. A secret door for the two of us.

That night when he lay alone on his bedroll, Fen’Harel dreamed of a knight in the Fade that shattered a crumbling pillar holding the sky apart from the earth. As the heavens crashed into the land, through the chaos, heedless of the danger around them, he witnessed the knight gather the pieces of the pillar, which became a lantern in their hands. Then, without looking back they secreted the lantern away to a place built in a remote reach of the world. Far though the knight ran, they were pursued, for the pieces once holding apart the domains were highly sought after. He could not discern their hunters, whether they were armies mortal or mindless darkness, he knew only that they were intent on destroying their quarry in totality and finality.

Within the walls, the Knight prepared, shutting and barring all the doors and drawing up the bridges. Ghostly sentinels patrolled the battlements and he overheard talk of setting wicked traps and calling forth vicious beasts from the Fade to guard the inside.

He felt a wrenching sorrow when at last the enemy arrived at their threshold and beat upon the walls with steel and magic. He did not know why, for any of it.

He found himself gripped by the dream as he watched the walls finally give way and the invaders flooded inside. He followed behind, through the ruined portcullis and into a wide courtyard, only to find that the shadowy invaders had come to a stop, emanating a perplexed air. He saw why.

There were no traps nor grotesque guardians. Of the sentinels there was no trace—perhaps an illusion all along.

Instead, they were greeted by frescoes adorning every surface, painted with pigments no mortal in present could possibly imagine. A thousand beautiful scenes that shifted and changed before his very eyes—mosaics made of gems and glass and stone glinting as though each piece contained its own soul. Gardens flourished all around that could only have been grown from dreams themselves.

The ache sank ever deeper, where no sword could reach as he watched the army disperse in search of the Knight and the Pillar-Made-Lantern. He seethed with anger, as they tore apart the sanctuary they had made. But he was powerless to stop them and he was filled with hate as desolation replaced beauty. Though he did not understand why they sought to capture the two, nor the enmity between the sides, he hoped the pair would not be found.

After following what appeared to be the leader of the force, it seemed his hopes weren’t for naught.

They encountered a hidden door, overgrown by syl’sils. His throat constricted as the rare and fragile blooms were crushed and torn by hacking sword and clawing gauntlet.

When the door was finally revealed, only then did the hateful trespassers cease their assault.

For the secret door was already cracked open. They had escaped after all.

He treaded forward, not quite believing what he was seeing propped up against the wall, just to the side of the portal.

But before he could get a closer look, the cobblestones dropped under his next step and the dream collapsed around him.

When he woke, his cheeks were wet and he had no explanation why.

[sadruru]

"Captivity begins with one's own mind."

A story about Melissa with an old illustration (old, yep, from last year!). As it turns out, Baphomet has played a cruel trick on her. This is a very important part in her story. Later I will illustrate this moment in the comic strip. Doesn't everyone in Baphomet's lineage like to play with nerves???? HAHAHAHAHA ;D I love how it turned out anyway! Why not post it here? I just wanted to reveal a bit of her character back when I wasn't drawing comics yet. I'm a not good writer. I tried very carefully to translate (maybe). That's a lot of reading to do, hehehe. Enjoy the despair ~ ...

The heart of demon lord Baphomet's domain - the Inevitability Prison. Another room. Another torture chamber. This place is part of an eternal labyrinth, littered with suffering souls and their torturers.

The labyrinth was the property of Baphomet, and once again the commander felt the call of the Abyss. The call of destruction and murder confused the thoughts in her head. The commander could hardly contain herself, venting her anger at the servants of the Father of the Minotaurs. A weary glance fell on the cracked mirror in the corner. The commander saw her reflection and - vaguely and briefly - the master of this prison glimpsed in it

No one noticed how Melissa had fallen behind the squad. Does no one see it but her? Does no one hear it?

- How long you gonna hide from us, goat?! I've had enough of these stupid riddles! Give me back the Hand of the Inheritor, or I'll gladly find you again and gut you! - a cheeky grin touched her face. Her eyes lit up with scarlet fire.

Baphomet let such a brazen insult pass his ears. He grinned, glaring intently at his enemy.

His eyes reflected… victory?

- An empty boast, mortal. But I see our last conversation has borne results,- he pointed a finger at his forehead with a bloody, burning star, repeating what he had once said: - "Captivity begins with your own mind". There was that phrase again. From the first few seconds it had been lingering in the commander's mind. Melissa didn't understand why those words were so irritating to her.

- Are you showing off again? Threats don't scare me.

- I'm not threatening you. Rather, I'm reminding you that I've studied you, your thoughts and feelings. There's no need to get rid of you myself. I wonder what will happen first - will your mind destroy itself now or afterward, if you close the Abyss? I've met your kind before. It doesn't always take physical strength to defeat you. - every word was infused with arrogance and poison.

- What the hell are you...

- A world-abused, terrified, unhappy tiefling-child. You know what I mean? You're in my domain. Your mind is like an open book. Still remembering all your hurts? - in the shards of the mirror there are pictures of the past and faces of familiar people, - Do you remember the face of your dear mother that day? No... But that look! So cold, unfamiliar, empty... You admired her so much.

The smug grin quickly disappeared from Melissa's face.

Everything came into view as if it had happened yesterday, when her happy childhood had begun to crack.

- And your beloved father? What did he do to you? Do you remember the mad fear for your life, the pleas for mercy? Which gods did you turn to then? A poor kitten, tied up, thrown into the raging river in a dirty, cramped sack, without the slightest hope of rescue...

- Stop it!

The wounds never healed, even after many years. The pain always returned, coming in waves, and each time it was worse. It became hard to breathe. Blood boiled with rage. A drop of cold sweat rolled down her cheek.

Trying to break free of the illusion was futile.

The commander realized that this was nothing more than another trick… But her soul was still torn apart.

The demon lord's words hurt like knives.

- What about old friends? A friend who deemed you useless and betrayed you for the sake of her freedom and safety. The laughter in her eyes. The cracked skull of a dear comrade who died because of you. And you only escaped and survived because of him!

- I said enough! Stay out of my head! - Melissa's voice trembled, her legs shaking under the weight of her past. Her chest was squeezing painfully.

- Have you ever thought about what will happen when the crusade is over? Will your "faithful" companions, all those people, still need you? What about that boy, who fell in love with someone like you? Have you wondered: are they not using you because you are useful?

The demon lord's voice changed. It became almost affectionate:

- They will quickly forget your existence and get rid of you. They will look at you the same way, like the dirt beneath their feet, tiefling. That's the way it was, is, and always will be. No one will be there for you like the day you died. It was scary to die helplessly, slowly, alone, with your neck cut, wasn't it? Once again, the world condemned you to die.

- Shut your fucking mouth, asshole!!!!

A cry of pure anger echoed through the dark corridors. Her fist struck the fragile mirror with all its force, ending its existence.

And only in her ears could she still hear the laughter of the Lord of the Labyrinth.

A hellish pain brought her back to her senses: the shards were embedded in her arm. The companions found Melissa quickly enough. The leopard led them to his mistress. She was sitting on her knees. As soon as she raised her head, she could read the shock and worry on her companions' faces.

It seemed like an eternity had passed, not a couple minutes.

Something was wrong.

Something had changed in the commander - everyone understood it from the first second. Melissa looked at her companions. In the red eyes read a lot of things… Doubt? Distrust? Despair? Like a wild animal trapped in a cage, surrounded by enemies.

From that moment on, nightmares and insomnia began to plague her more and more often, almost every night. In Drezen, many people noticed the change in Melissa. The fun, cheerful girl was turning into a walking corpse, repelling any attempt to speak or care for her. Periodically she repeated the same thing quietly, barely noticeable, like a curse:

- Captivity begins with one's own mind… She's broken like the shards of a mirror.

[doodle-pops]

omg!!!!!! i would’ve loved to hear ur thoughts on the angsty mortal x immortal😞 sorry tumblr is being weird for u!!

but to be fair, in my defence!!! i would’ve frozen up and panicked if an elf confessed to me. imagine it’s someone’s as great and respected like glorifindel. like don’t get me wrong, he’s a great statue of a man. but i personally would’ve believed he would be lying to me and playing some sick joke 💀💀 like how can you THEEE balrog slayer like some nothing of a human being 🤔 r u sure you’re not making a mistake here⁉️⁉️

but personal grievances aside, in terms of plot sake, let’s just make it angsty!!! i can see that reader might be coming from great insecurity, as you said, and is not thinking right. imagine being a bystander and watching that go down 😭 omg id cringe so hard, it’s like watching a public proposal and the person being proposed to says no outright and now….everyone is just frozen stiff with awkwardness. now what???

maybe to add another layer and dramatic flare to it, what if it was an enemies to lovers dynamic? maybe that’s why reader would he adamant about being against the confession 🤔 they just fully believe that they won’t be good together—constantly bickering and arguing. there’s no common ground! so why now, of all times, did this elf fall in love with them? for what purpose? some twisted and cruel consequence that is love? (heavy desperation included BTW maybe both sides are mutual, but one is more on extreme denial while the either is just grasping at straws atp)

also side note, if the elf in question was someone insane like IDK faenor during that phase of his, it’d be reasonable that reader would try and run away from them 😞😞 that man is fine…do NOT get me wrong. but he ain’t my damage to carry 😫

Tumblr is being very weird. I also hate that new feature where all the coloured text are underlined. Like??? Ew no, the aesthetic is ruined 😭.

I agreed with that Feanor statement. Like yes Mr made with perfection in mind, body and soul you are fine but I'm not carrying your baggage 🤚. Deal with your issues before stepping to me angry fire boi.

For the whole idea of the elf out of nowhere confessing their undying love for a mere mortal reader, it would be a scary experience. "Who are you and what do you want from me?" Insecurities will be kicking us hard in the head when the comparisons are being made. A great elf courting a mere mortal 😳. "Sir, are your eyes in need of being checked? 20/20 vision?"

This post is so coincidental because last night I was teasing @lamemaster about plotting a Maedhros enemies to lovers angst fic 😈. I like the idea of watching people lose their minds over the back and forth mutual pinning and hating. And I absolutely agree with you on the "suddenly out of nowhere they realised they love me!" Like what do you mean love? When you despised me?? And we were at each other's throats??

Being a bystander leads to secondhand embarrassment. I would be screaming in lowercase for reader to disappear. This leads to another #huh? #cringeworthy #isheforreal? #erupickupyourson

Conversely, I do enjoy the idea of reader and elf enemies to lovers troupe stem from two houses feuding. Generational feuding that transcends through history and they're the ones who decide whether they end it or continue. That's interesting though, an elven house feuding with a mortal house 🤭. Not only insecurities get introduced but superiority and egotism to drive the dislike they contain.

For a plot twist, I would enjoy if reader and elf still didn't end up together. After all the turmoil and biting at each other's throats, they remain neutral #friendzoneforlife 😗👉👈

[thedeathlysallows]

memento mori

Warning: this chapter contains dark, sexual content

Ch.5: Mars

           She’s close to breaking.

           I can smell it on her.

           Roseanna, my sweet little poison ivy, my darling, is so close to breaking that it almost feels unfair that she hasn’t made it longer.

           “I won’t fuck you,” I say as I slip my hand under her robe, enjoying the way her heart stutters and the blood rushes to her cheeks. “But I can think of some other ways to spend our time.”

           She shakes her head, fear flashing in her eyes. “Don’t.” Her hand grasps my wrist as if to stop me. As if she could stop me. “You can’t.”

           “I can’t?”

           “No. I’d be-”

           The words die in her throat when my fingers graze against her bare thigh. She’s much softer than I could have possibly anticipated, her skin feeling like smooth silk under my fingertips.

           “You’d be what?” I whisper the words in her ear. “Say it.”

           Roseanna whimpers, distracted by my touch. “Compromised.”

           “Oh, darling. You were compromised the moment I saw you. Do you really think I’d let something as beautifully dangerous as you just walk away from me?”

           Mutual destruction.

           Both of us know that’s the only possible way for anything between us to end.

           I’ve heard mortals us the term “like fire and ice”, but that’s not even close to what we are. We’re the same wicked soul split in two bodies, leaving trails of death and decay in our wake. She might not realize it as she’s yet still blinded by her mortality, but my very essence recognizes her as something equal to me. A rival, a lover, I don’t particularly care. As long as her thoughts, both waking and dreaming, are of me it doesn’t matter.

           “Felix.” Roseanna sighs my name as her fingers curl into my biceps. She’s panting lightly and anticipation is building in her fiery gaze. “I could lose everything if you do this.”

           I kiss her temple, her jaw, her neck. “Roseanna, do you really think I care what you’ll lose if I shove my fingers in that pretty little cunt and make you orgasm until you’re seeing nothing but stars?”

           She’s taken aback.

           I shake my head and make a tsk sound. “Don’t be an idiot, darling. Why would I care if The Society kicks you out?”

           “Because I would kill you if they did.”

           “Mmm.” I press her down into the bed and let the deep growl break free from my chest. My cock hardens, pressing against my slacks as I picture what a real fight with Roseanna would entail. Then again, if The Society were to cast her out, she would be human.

           And her blood would be all mine.

           Roseanna squirms beneath me. “Get off!”

           “Is that what you really want?”

           She hesitates and that’s more than enough for me. I don’t expect enthusiastic consent from an enemy (because she is an enemy, no matter how lovely and enticing), so I look for the blurred line and toe it until she comes willingly. And she will. She might be kicking and screaming the entire time, but she’ll give in to me. To us.

           I don’t love her. A man like me isn’t capable of love. But by the gods do I want to possess this woman, body and soul.

           “Tell me what you want and I’ll burn down the world to give it to you,” I say as I undo the knot holding her robe together. I wait for her to stop me. She doesn’t. When I look into her eyes her pupils are blown wide with lust.

           “I want…” she hesitates as if embarrassed by her own desire.

           Is she…

           “Darling, are you a virgin?” I tease her with a playful grin.

           “No!”

           She answers too quickly for it to be anything other than a lie.

           “Oh, my little poison ivy. Now I have to ruin you.”

           “Just shut up and fuck me already!”

           “No.” I gather her wrists in one of my hands and pin her arms above her head. With my other hand I caress every curve of her body, toying with her until she’s whining and squirming beneath me. “I won’t fuck you. That’s vulgar. Degenerate. Every time you’re with me will be nothing short of a fucking religious experience. You’ll be calling me your god by the end.”

           She’s about to open her mouth, give me some smart ass remark, so I cut her off and crash my mouth against her. Roseanna tenses up momentarily, caught off guard by the kiss. She melts against me eventually though. I can’t get enough of the way she feels against me. It’s like she was designed for me, fitting so perfectly in my grip. Her lips are plush and she allows me to take charge of the kiss.

           “Felix,” she breathes out my name when I move from her lips to her neck and bite down. I don’t draw blood now, but one day I will. One day I’ll drink from her until I’m absolutely gorged.

           “Yes?”

           “I want… please, I just…”

           I smile against her skin, moving even further down and taking one of her nipples between my teeth. She screams, her body jolting from the painful pleasure. There’s the distinct salty tang of sweat on her skin.

           “What do you want, darling?” I release her wrists so I can touch her with both of my hands while her fingers bury themselves in my hair. She pulls me closer, her legs wrapping around my waist.

           “Touch me,” she demands.

           “I am touching you.”

           Roseanna groans. “You know what I mean, bastard.”

           “Careful, little poison ivy. Only good girls get what they want.” I gently knead her breasts with my hands, kissing down her body until I’m centimeters from her cunt. “Are you a good girl?”

           Her body jerks when she feels my breath on her core. “Y-yes.”

           “Yes what?”

           “Sir?”

           Sir?

           I like it.

           “You are a good girl.” I get off the bed. “But you’re ankle still needs to heal, doesn’t it?”

           Roseanna’s mouth falls open and she looks like she’s about to scream at me, or throw a knife at me, or both at the same time. I put a finger to my lips and nod to the window. We have an audience. I sensed them watching earlier, but I thought they would lose interest easily. Apparently, I thought wrong, and I’d rather they not think Roseanna is fair game.

           “Who?” She asks. “Are they with you?”

           “No.”

           “Newborns?”

           “No. Stay here.”

           Roseanna scrambles under the cover, thoroughly annoyed with me. “Whatever, just lock the door when you leave and turn the light off.”

           I give her a deep bow. “Of course, your majesty. Right away.”

           “Dick.”

           “Maybe next time.” I wink and she blushes.

           When I reach the warehouse, our audience members are gone, replaced by Demetri, Jane, and Alec. None of them look pleased.

           “Where have you been?” Jane crosses her arms and looks like a petulant child being told no, you can’t have your toy until you finish dinner.

           I point a thumb over my shoulder at the hotel. “Watching the Agent.”

           Demetri smirks.

           I frown and shake my head minutely enough that only he picks up on it.

           Jane seems to believe my answer. “Well? What did you find?”

           “She’s related to the Swan girl, but they don’t seem to have a good relationship. Lots of anger and feelings of abandonment.” I don’t know why, but I feel almost bad about giving this information to the twins and Demetri. Like I’m betraying her in some way.

           Alec sniffs in my direction before wrinkling his nose. “You reek of her.”

           “She already knows we’re here. She’s known since the second she arrived in Seattle. I thought there was no sense in watching from afar and took a more direct approach.” I don’t mind her smell. I like her smell. It’s intoxicating in the best way. Regardless, I change the subject quickly. “What did you learn about the army’s creator?”

           Demetri is the one to answer me. “A woman named Victoria. She and her lover are hiding out in a cottage nearby. Apparently, she has quite the vendetta against the Cullens. Some nonsense about killing her mate.”

           Oh.

           Does Roseanna know?

           Without thinking about it, I glance up at her darkened window.

           Will she choose to take part in the inevitable fight that will take place? I imagine The Society will force her to. The idea doesn’t sit well with me.

           I turn back to my coven mates. “Were they here earlier? When I was interrogating the Agent I sensed two unfamiliar vampires watching from here.”

           “Yes,” Jane answers in her disturbingly emotionless way. “We had questions. They had answers. We will let them do as they were created to do.”

           “And the Agent?” I can’t help but ask. “The Society must feel the newborns are drawing to much attention if they sent her.”

           “She will do her job. I’m sure Aro will be interested to know if she survives given her parentage.”

           I don’t like the idea of Aro learning about Roseanna, but I know it’s inevitable. He’ll see this conversation in Alec, Jane, and Demetri’s mind. And in mine? He’ll see too much in mine. I never cared before about what he did or didn’t see, but I want to keep my poison ivy to myself. I don’t want to share her with Aro or anyone else.

[movedtodykedvonte]

What mega Minecraft theory?

Ok, so it's my theory that the player characters in Minecraft were the original humans that inadvertently caused their own extinction through a selfish desire to harness the arcane/mystic arts of the Minecraft world. I started making this theory before the mobeastiary came out and ever since I've just been expanding on it with the book's lore and each subsequent update to the game that seems to just support it more and more. Under the cut cause, oh boy is this long:

I believe that ancient humans discovered the existence of magic through villagers, clerics specifically, and became interested in using it themselves.

However, villagers were adamant not to, knowing how the misuse of magic could lead to dire consequences. Illagers and ravengers their prime examples. Still, humans were stubborn

through research they found out about other dimensions, starting with the nether. The nether was a hostile and inhabitable place that had valuable resources such as netherite, potion materials, and all the other reasons we regularly venture there.

Realizing that they were outmatched in sheer numbers and knowledge of the realm by piglins, the wither plague, and the general terrain, humans retreated, abandoning these fortresses and bastions indefinitely until they could create the means to conquer them.

This leads to my theory on creatures of the overworld. Creepers were man-made, designed specifically to blend in with their surroundings to sneak up on enemies before igniting, hence why their insides literally have like TNT in them.

They were dumb and didn't account if these things bred and became feral so... Thank them for these silent bombers.

Strongholds and what we find underground

Once they realized they could not control these creatures, the remaining humans began moving to the only safe place, underground. This is where strongholds first started. In hopes to combat the beasts they created, they began studying and exploring magic and potion arts even more, hence the libraries and materials found in them. Trial tests yielded successfully; potions of leaping or healing proof they could use this to possibly win back their world.

However, there were detractors, ones tired of their reliance on means that continued to doom them. efforts of sabotage yielded potions of harming and slowness, attempts to prove how easy yet another venture into mysticism could hurt them.

The detractors were proven correct when the unstable potions had unexpected effects. Early healing potions did in fact keep you going once wounded... even if mortally. The properties of these early tests led to what we know as zombies and skeletons, humans kept alive but rotting, mindless, and violent as their soul rots with their flesh.

This, along to contain criminals, is why there are prisons in strongholds

Due to how many people had these potions, it was inevitable that zombies and the undead would not overrun the place, people being turned through attacks or other causes, and the strongholds becoming tombs for those

In a ditch effort, they used their last option, the unknown dimension only known as the end. Ones that didn't want to risk it, fled deeper into the earth in hopes it'd be enough

Those that did neither continued to live in the world, creating mine systems to get around and survive until they too died out. Some even ventured back up tired of living in fear and determined to fix what they had done to themselves. Igloos with Z.Villagers were labs by those trying to rectify the past.

The End and Cities

those who went to the end were met with the fucking dragon of course. The reason this dimension was so unknown was that those who went never came back.

Very few people survived, those that did having used the fountain to escape, sealing it with magic that would only break when the dragon was slain. However, they were not sent home.

They were sent to the end islands, a deeper more secure but mostly barren level of the end. Having a source of food and the little resources they brought, they set up a way of life, hoping to figure out a way back, eventually...

Cities and sky fleets were made. One for stability and the other for exploration in hopes to find something in the vast nothing.

I believe they found shulks and phantoms... or what phantoms were in the end. I believe membranes fix elytras cause they were the wings of the phantoms in the end dimension before being cut off by desperate and selfish humans. Hence why they haunt players in the overworld.

Based on the bestiary, Endermen are oddly similar to players' own constructs, besides the obvious. My theory is spending too much time in any dimension warps you to meet that dimension's standards, the humans needing longer limbs to reach the strange fruit of the trees, bigger and tougher jaws to crack the shell, and even taking on priorities of the fruit itself (warping to other islands)

Effectively, it was a rapid evolution, one that saw many of these altered humans forfeiting their old ways of life and abandoning the cities and sky fleets they had made, and returning to the main end zone.

Strangely, the dragon was docile to them and they began to coexist, those that missed their home and had not seen the overworld for years used their new abilities to return home, collecting pieces of their old world in a sad way to feel at home

Ancient Cities, the Warden, and the portal

Those that went deeper just repeated what they did with the strongholds but better, creating entire structures and ecosystems to mimic their old lives and trying to learn from past mistakes.

Still, hubris continued to plague them. They too heard of another unexplored or really known dimension. One that alluded to something great and powerful that they hoped

When they built and activated the portal what they got was the skulk. Too fearful of what the portal yielded no one ever actually went in, simply keeping it open to let more of the odd substance in. Curiosity killed the cat

At first, they just explored its properties, it worked much like the mycelium on the mushroom islands but was more... fleshy... sturdy, and practically indestructible. They believed it could be used to reinforce their defenses in case anything attacked. In believing this they covered the area with it.

No one knew what to do when sensors or shriekers appeared, or when the odd substance made people sick or when their deaths from the mysterious illness made the substance grow, feeding off the life of those it claimed.

No one knew what to do when the Warden showed up, a creature seemingly made of the lost souls and rotting bodies of their lost, held together by the skulk. The Warden seemingly full of the hate of those brought back, was vengeful in a way no one could have prepared for

As long as the portal was open the warden didn't despawn, hunting down and killing the leftover humans in mass until precautions to avoid it were taken. They discovered it was blind, relied on all other senses, and used wool to navigate around it

Still, they were dropping until only one was left. They didn't last long either but they did close the portal, stopping the spread and allowing the warden to dispel with time, nothing to feed on. They also destroyed any documents on how to activate the portal to ensure the beast would never be able to reign free again. (This is the collective story I pieced together with discs 5, 11, and 13)

Other Stuff

Our player is simply a human who either has amnesia or escaped the horrors and is simply trying to survive in t world that it now knows will show no mercy to it

Spiders are that big cause I believe humans did something trying to create mega flora and fauna to expedite/enhance farming and backfired immensely with these bugs.

This also explains why guardians are like that as they are a horrid mix of every underwater mob with none of their benefits.

It is unknown if anyone did really make it into the portal in the ancient cities as there was no way they were coming back with the warden about. Then the portal was closed

This doesn't fit anywhere but endermen get mad when stared at cause they envy the innocence in the eyes of those who did not share their fate. Also, their hearts are the pearls, calcified by the effects of the fruit and years in the end realm.

If there's anything else that's not clear or needs explaining please tell me! I have so many aspects explained in journals and docs over the years and I'd hate to have something be confusing cause I was excited to share!

[totallyaspy]

Our first Crusade game with my Watch Fortress Numinous (Deathwatch) vs my friend's Death Guard.

The Death Guard had begun their invasion of the world Karnest V, a detachment lead by Typhus, in an attempt to spread Nurgle’s gifts on this world. As the invasion started the Planetary Guard of Karnest V let out a distress signal, and Watchmaster Abraxus Thysor heeded their call for aid. When the Watch Fortress came into orbit, Watchmaster Thysor and his marines entered the Teleportarium to make planetfall. Upon their arrival, they found Typhus and his forces were attempting to leave the city after having infected some of the population, turning them into Poxwalkers. After sowing chaos and starting the spread of Nurgle’s gift, their mission was to escape the area and move to another region of Karnest V and spread their contagion. Unknown to Typhus, the Planetary Guard had already laid out a Minefield on the outside of the city to slow any possible enemy reinforcements.

The mission, Routed Prey. Death Guard was to be the Defenders trying to escape while the Deathwatch were be the Attackers tasked with destroying as much of the enemy force as possible. The secondary objectives for the Death Guard were Assassination (Kill an enemy CHARACTER unit, or enemy has no such units remaining.), and Deploy Teleport Homer (A unit that is chosen to not be able to shoot or charge is positioned within the enemy deployment zone or 6” of the center.). The secondary objectives for the Deathwatch were Assassination and Bring it Down (Bring it Down). The Mission rule was Minefields (Units that Advance have a 1 in 6 chance of enduring a mortal wound under this Mission Rule. Note that the effect only works on an Advance roll result of 6, meaning that units which do not roll to Advance are unaffected.).

Typhus was attached to his Poxwalkers for this mission and his force contained two squads of ten Death Guard Cultists, a Death Guard Defiler, a Death Guard Helbrute, twenty Poxwalkers, a War Dog Brigand, and a War Dog Huntsman. Watchmaster Thysor was attached to his Proteus Kill Team and his force contained a squad of five Assault Intercessors lead by Lieutenant K'tar Esek, a ten man Indomitor Kill Team, a ten man Proteus Kill Team, and a Vindicare Assassin.

This was the starting deployment.

Death Guard spent their first turn advancing up the board to the evacuation zone.

My Deathwatch arrived in my deployment, the Vindicare Assassin took a shot at Typhus using his Shieldbreaker Round and severely wounded him, while both the Proteus and the Indomitor Kill Teams fired and damaged the Defiler.

Seeing Typhus was attacked, the War Dog Brigand turned around and fired all of his shots at the Assassin. Critically wounded, his emergency teleporter took him off world and back to the medical bay of the Watch Fortress. The Brigand then charged into the Indomitor Kill Team critically wounding one of the marines. His Cultist, other War Dog Huntsman, Helbrute, and Defiler continued to move towards their objective.

The Proteus Kill Team moved up to prepare a follow up attack on the Helbrute. The Indomitor Kill Team fell back and fired on the War Dog Brigand. Lieutenant Esek, seeing the warmachine was heavily damaged, charged at it with his Intercessors, sending the Chaos Knight back into the warp.

The Death Guard continued to consolidate their forces in the evacuation zone. The Helbrute, however, turned around fired and charged into the Proteus Kill Team, wounding several marines and taking damage itself. Watchmaster Thysor ordered the Indomitor Kill Team to use the Teleportarium to reposition and cut off the escaping force.

The Indomitor Kill Team arrived in the cover of the trees and unleashed their weapons at the Cultists, cutting them down, and at Typhus’s Poxwalkers, freeing some of the poor souls from Nurgle’s rot. Watchmaster Thysor and his Proteus Kill Team were able to fall back and gun down the Helbrute, sending the Deamon Engine back into the Warp. Lieutenant Esek moved forward and, after seeing what Typhus had done to some of the populous of Karnest V, charged at Typhus and his Poxwalkers. He killed several of the Poxwalkers, but not before losing a majority of his squad to Nurgle’s Rot.

The Death Guard, seeing that a large part of their force had been lost, had begun to take up defensive positions in the wooded area of the evacuation zone. Typhus and his Poxwalkers seized the opportunity and struck back at Lieutenant Esek and his few remaining Intercessors. While they were able to kill a few more Poxwalkers, Lieutenant Esek’s armor was critically damaged, and knowing he would not be able to survive their fight for much longer, was teleported back to the Watch Fortress to recover and fight at a later date. Watchmaster Thysor, seeing the enemy was divided, called for the Teleportarium to return both his Kill Team and the Indomitor Kill Team to reposition and take out Typhus.

Arriving back on the battlefield, both Kill Teams were able to slaughter the remaining Poxwalkers and were able to send the traitor Typhus back into the Warp.

Leaderless and unable to attack the Deathwatch, Typhus’s remaining forces remained in the evacuation zone, waiting to be called back into the Warp for an escape. Watchmaster Thysor using the Teleportarium once more to call back both his Kill Team and the Indomitor Kill Team to the Watch Fortress to perform a final strike against Typhus’s forces.

Arriving back on the battlefield, Watchmaster Thysor and the Proteus Kill Team were able to make short work of the remaining Cultists hiding in the woods while the Indomitor Kill Team attacked the Defiler, critically damaging it and returning the Deamon Engine back into the Warp. Before his forces were able to attack the remaining War Dog Huntsman, a portal to the Warp opened up and it was able to escape back into the Warp and continue the fight elsewhere on Karnest V.

With the Death Guard forces currently in shambles, Watchmaster Thysor and his remaining Marines returned back into the city to cut out whatever pestilence remained in the city and attempt to bring back order. While the battle may have been won, the war was far from over.

This is the final score and I have cropped out my friend’s name. It has taken a while to get this typed up, I just procrastinated a lot. We have not played another game just yet, but once we do, I will try to do a better job at getting this posted, as well as taking better pictures of the battle so I can do a better play by play. While it worked well enough this time, there were a few pictures where you just could not see anything change much, or what did change was behind a wall. I have a few new models painted and I will be posting those pictures later this week. If you made it this far, thanks for reading, I really enjoyed playing this game as well as typing up this Battle Report. Special thanks to my good friend Smash92 for proof reading and editing this Battle Report.

[shinji-hibiki]

@scuffle-with-spirals oh my friend there is A Lot To Unpack here! enough that im just gonna make a new post and not bother the op of that last one help

ok so i have this awesome oc called Mel Alexander Breathsbrooke “Mel Taco Bell” The Taco Bell Waiter. this is hinm

So this cunt was originally a homestuck oc I made as part of a collaborative fan-venture project i was doing with 4 others . This was also like 8 years ago.

One of my collaborators (who remains one of my dearest friends) made an oc to go along wiht him called Mac Pines, who became his love interest/mortal enemy/guy he annoyed endearingly. right. So mel and mac are both characters in this homestuck fan-venture right. Look at them so cutie cute

And since they’re our ocs. and theyre in love. we came up with a bunch of alternate universes we could shove them into. INCLUDING one in which Mac died and his soul was transferred into Mel’s sword.

Can u imagine what that would be like. to be a living breathing guy and suddenly have zero control over the vessel youre contained in? Can you imagine having no ability to communicate with your friends or loved ones because yuoure a fucking sword? Can you imagine rusting. Can you imagine god forbid being used to kill a living thing. What if the living thing was the love of your life? Now you’re alone, and you’re a chunk of metal, and the only one connecting you to any shred of your past used You to take his own life.

anyway swordmac was a phenomenon me and him made up and still remind each other of sometimes because like, yeah we were sad teenagers and all but what the hell was that. Also ever since then I’ve shoved mel into a bunch of other (less tragic) situations, including during the pandemic when I made him appear in a Your Turn To Die (the video game) roleplay group. As a taco bell waiter