okay I need to vent real quick because stupid NPCS

HOW CAN YOU NOT RECOGNIZE WYLL FUCKING RAVENGUARD? the disrespect I feel for him right now. ruddde

Wyll tilted his head to the side at the confirmation of his change. He sat down on his hind legs and moved one of his front legs forward, examining it closely. Indeed so far he noted that it matched that of haraknin's he had summoned in his human life. The fact that he was in this form spoke for the impression he had truly left on her. That pleased a part of him, and a result there was the faintest bit of a smile on his canine face.

'I thought I was going stay a lemure for eternity.' Wyll said, though was clearly relieved that it wasn't the case. In fact, a sense of pride seemed to come over him, something that had well been present in his human years. But now as a not just a hellhound, but a haraknin, he knew that he already played a more important role than some of hellbeasts here. 'All I felt was pain and suffering, even if it was only brief.'

It dawned on him then, as he watched the bowl that was taken away, that that was just what he'd eaten. He had eaten something he was himself no long ago, and worse of all? There was no regret in it, like it was it was just the natural order. It didn't matter that this could have been his fate, too.

Wyll got up on all fours and slowly walked over to the young maiden, trying his best to get used to walking with two feet now as his legs felt wobbly. ' I can eat more later, but first, I want to see Mizora.' Sure he was still hungry, in fact he was sure he could devour everything in this kitchen with his hunger. Yet he wanted to see her first. Had to.

He blinked at her remark about his horns. A haraknin with horns? This he needed to see. 'While you polish them, can I look at myself?'

Initially waking up in Avernus had been as expected. The memories of his human life, his death, had stuck him and his entire lemure body was racked in pain. He had known of what would become of him, but he hadn't expected this level of pain. Yet, unlike many others who had been cursed to this fate, he had left an unforgettable impression on his patron. As such he wasn't left alone long before Mizora found him. The transformation into whatever he was becoming was equally as painful as being a lemure. He could feel limbs growing, and bones crunching into place. Words were being said as it was happening, but he simply couldn't hear over the exquisite pain. Eventually he blacked out, unaware of his new form. When he awoke again, he found himself over stimulated by the sound surrounding him, from the imps and cambions moving about to the screaming of something else for mercy, maybe lemure by sounds of it. The next thing to happen was his eyes fluttering open and almost immediately he could see that he was something entirely different now. Wyll could feel a set of legs, where he hadn't had them before and his head was heavy as if he once more had a set of horns. He was just starting to move when he heard a younger cambion girl greet him, followed by the aroma of something delicious in front of him; a bowl of flesh, with various spices added in. His mouth watered at its smell and instantly made his way to the bowl, devouring it as if he were starving, ravaging it. What followed was a satisfying hum, his devilish tail swinging happily as he finished his meal. The mention of Mizora caused his ears to straighten up, his tailing continuously swaying back and forth at the prospect of seeing her. 'Mizora? Did she change me? I don't remember having limbs before. Where is she?' No words cames out of his mouth, but they went directly into the cambions mind, though he was amazed he could do so. 'What am I?'

The Cambion girl smiled satisfied at Wyll emptying the entire bowl in seconds. Reaching down to pick up the bowl, she said: "Lady Mizora will be happy to know you are eating. Do you want another plate? She gave specific instructions that you are to eat and drink as much as you like."

Hearing the dog's telepathic thoughts, the girl grinned at how quickly he seemed to be able to pick up on his abilities, if only in part. The lady of the house surely knew how to pick who deserved to be more than just game for her. Having finished the fish platter, the Cambion girl picked it up to carry it to the room, where the hellcats tended to longue. They were rather spoiled and preferred more eloquent meals than just spiced lemure flesh.

The Cambion said: "Yes, Lady Mizora did change you, Wyll. You must have left quite a favourable expression on her. Few newcomers to the menagerie are treated as well as you do. In fact, I don't think I have ever seen a lemure become a harakin so fast before. The lady of the house must really like you. She is likely in her private chambers. I can deliver you to her if you are not hungry anymore."

She cupped her chin as she eyed his horns crucially, biting her lips. The maid remarked: "We might wanna give your horns some polish though. After all, if you are to meet Lady Mizora in her private quarters, you might wanna make yourself look presentable."

@faerunscursed cont. from here.

Roleplay Tips: "Actionable Responses"

We have all experienced, or will at some point in the future, a thread that feels like it is going nowhere. It's that feeling of reluctance to pull up the draft, of realizing it's the third or so time of experiencing dread when you see that other person respond.

You're bored with the thread. That, or you want to continue and just can't seem to think of what to do next!

There are a number of reasons why this can happen, but one of the most common ones is a lack of an actionable response from your partner. In most cases, deciding to wrap up the thread is the best thing to suggest...but most of us are just too "polite" to do that, huh? 😉But that's a post for another time.

So, what is an actionable response? Simply put, it's a reply to a thread that manages to give direction to your partner. This has NOTHING to do with matching length of post! It's just a matter of being aware that this is a collaborative effort.

Here's an example:

Character A: "I think we should invite our friends out to a party." Character B: "That's a great idea!" Character A: "It'll be a formal party. I'm going to work on the invitations tonight. I'll really go all out and make it fancy!" Character B: "Oh, I can't wait to see what you come up with! I'll be sure to wear the red dress I got over the weekend." Character A: "I'm sure it looks stunning on you. I don't know what I'm going to wear yet. I think I need to figure out the venue and the details first." Character B: "You are going to knock it out of the park! You're always so good at organizing everything!"

So, what happened? The conversation above isn't bad! However, there was "burden" placed on the writer of Character A each time. The writer of B has responded each time in similar length, but gives A little to no idea how to continue the conversation. Each reply made it the responsibility of the writer of A to come up with the direction for the conversation. Here's the breakdown:

A: Starts with the opening prompt (the party)

B: Agrees with idea

A: Elaborates on prompt

B: Enthuses about prompt, brings up new subject (dress)

A: Compliments B, brings up new subject (uncertainty)

B: Reassures A

Sometimes your character requires noncommittal responses, and this is OK to do once in awhile! But think about this in real life: If you met someone who was only this reactive to your comments and never really asked about you or your actions... Wouldn't it get a bit exhausting to talk with them? At the very least, they would appear polite but uninterested, and interactions would tend to be short.

Here's a better example for the above, one with actionable responses from B.

Character A: "I think we should invite our friends out to a party." Character B: "That's a great idea! Which friends, though? The ones from work or school?" Character A: "Why not both? I think it'd be cool to combine our social groups. Unless you think they wouldn't get along…?" Character B: "Well, you know how wild I get around Stacy on the dance floor. I wouldn't want it to reflect bad on my performance review …" Character A: "That's true, you two can get pretty unhinged. But I was thinking of theming it up to be more of a formal party. Like, make fancy invitations and everything!" Character B: "Oh, that sounds amazing! And less likely I'll start twerking, although the possibility isn't zero. Do you need any help with the invitations? Or anything else?" Character A: "I should have the invitations under control, but I'd love it if you could brainstorm the decorations. I want to go for a vintage 1950's vibe." Character B: "I am already making a Pinterest. This is going to be great! Oh, and I just bought the cutest red dress that'll work perfectly for the theme! Do you know what you want to wear? We can go window shopping later if you want!" Character A: "That would be great! Do you have pics of the dress?"

The above interaction isn't just more equal in engagement, its flow and dialogue is far more natural and prompts more detailed responses! Here's the breakdown for this one:

A: Starts with the opening prompt (the party)

B: Responds asking for more details, prompting a new subject (guest list)

A: Answers, asks for B's opinion

B: Answers, brings up a third party that A can comment on

A: Makes a comment, but chooses not to pursue subject at length; brings up new point of discussion (formal party)

B: Gives opinion, offers help

A: Accepts help, provides further prompt details (party theme)

B: Gives opinion, offers up another subject of clothing, offers up potential next direction/goal of thread (shopping)

There is a lot more "work" involved on both sides in the above example. And this is just with dialogue alone -- using descriptors and physical actions (i.e B could pull up their phone and show A the photos of their dress, or A could have started to playfully mock imitate B's dancing) also gives the other character something to respond to. This works great for Muses who canonically don't say much or are generally quiet in certain scenarios!

The ultimate goal of writing Actionable Responses is to share the responsibility of the scene, so that one writer doesn't feel burdened with directing everything and eventually associate your threads with fatigue, even subconsciously. Communication also plays a big part, too! Your responses may be actionable, but if the other writer isn't picking up any of them, it's time to pause the thread and communicate ooc and see what's up!

"Oh no! I realized I don't write a lot of Actionable Responses! Does that mean I'm a bad writer/horrible person? Do all my partners secretly hate me? Is this why I don't get any responses?"

NO. Realizing the above only means you're learning something new right now, and it is up to you if you want to employ the above suggestions or not. This thread is not meant to shame people -- it is meant to educate, and maybe even put into words what other writers feel, so that they can share and point to it when they feel responsibility is unbalanced in a thread.

"Have you become so consumed by hate that you can't see reason?" - Minthara / Karlach

Hate was always something that was apart of her very being. As a drow from the underdark, whom had faithfully served lolth, hatred had been directed at her, making her kind to be treated with judgement. So back then she had developed a hatred for most and heavily distrusted those around her. Only once she was sent out beyond the underdark, did that falter ever so slightly. Something she had come to regret.

Minthara had trusted that the likes of Ketheric was going to be polite, that their meeting would be a formal one. However, that soon turned into a nightmare for her and as a result of which she became a slave to not only the absolute, but to Orin as well. Now that she was free of that influence, she could finally act on the hatred that had been building ever since they stuck that tadpole in her head. No one was going to stop her from killing everyone that had been responsible and should they get in the way, she would fight.

"Do you know what it is like, little tiefling? To not only watch your men die while your are forced to watch, but to be torched for days on end as they are forced to change?" Minthara clenched her fists, the skin around turned a bright white. "Then to be a pet to those responsible? To become a slave to their whim and not able to do anything about it?"

Minthara's eyes glowed with an intense hatred that rivaled the flames that often shown themselves on Karlach in her fits of anger. "If I don't have hate then what is there of me? Surely you of all people would understand, being Zariels lapdog for all those years."@ferinehuntress

for Wyll from Curumë at @deaddoveadventures: [ POWER ]: sender and/or receiver use their powers during a sparring match in order to develop and enhance their abilities.

It had become a normal routine now, for Wyll to spar with his comrades in times where they were at camp. After all, they had to stay in the best shape if they were going to defeat the absolute. As well as being prepared for any challenges they might face on the road. As such when he wasn't training with Mizora in secret, he was sparring with the Iikes of Karlach and Lae'zael. However, while they covered the physical aspect of it all, they didn't have the magical capabilities he had, thus the use of magic was not available to him.

This was why he enjoyed moments like this, sparring with Curume. Both were warlocks, different patrons but equally powerful. Both knew that the best way to hone their magical prowess was to use it. As such this had been a battle of the magics, and in defense to latest move, Wyll cast shield on himself to avoid the blow. "Phew, you almost had them there, friend."

Of course the more he used his power, the more he hungered for it. Not that he would ever admit to such a thing, not even to another warlock. No, as the blade of frontiers he wasn't a selfish man and were he to give into his hunger for more, he worried he would change into something unrecognizable. "I see you've grown stronger, that's good, we'll need it to fight off the absolute. But watch this."

In turn Wyll held out his hands, casting burning hands in Curume's direction, careful to aim enough that if it hit, it would barely do so for his safety.

The crackling of wood would reach Wyll's ears as his world shifted back into focus. He lay in a hard iron basket. The flickering of the fire in the stove illuminated two bowls before him. One was filled to the brim with water so cold, it frosted the air millimetres above the rim. The other bowl had a small pastry seared so strongly that you could see the metal grids in the flesh. It had been seasoned with spices, local to Avernus, making it hot in temperature and flavour.

There was a bustle around him as imps came flitting through the kitchen, carrying wailing and screaming lemures by the hook of their tails, dumping them on chopping blocks or straight into pots and pans, where they were cooked and seared. Imps and Cambions expertly blocked out the pleas for mercy as they worked with the ingredients. The air smelled of roasted and cooked meat, roasted potatoes and the lemony tang of prepared salad.

Next to Wyll's basket stood a Cambion girl, a teenager and a maid if her dress was anything to go by. She was squeezing a quartered lemon onto a roasted fish and added some time and rosemary as well as chilly flakes on its bronze scales when she noticed him stirring. The Cambion girl flashed Wyll an excited smile as if she had just spotted a puppy.

"You are awake!", she called, "That's good! The lady of the house was concerned your transformation took a bit out of you. We made you some food and drink." Her tail flicked towards the bowls. "Please, have your fill. Lady Mizora insists that you get your strength back, puppy."

Initially waking up in Avernus had been as expected. The memories of his human life, his death, had stuck him and his entire lemure body was racked in pain. He had known of what would become of him, but he hadn't expected this level of pain. Yet, unlike many others who had been cursed to this fate, he had left an unforgettable impression on his patron. As such he wasn't left alone long before Mizora found him.

The transformation into whatever he was becoming was equally as painful as being a lemure. He could feel limbs growing, and bones crunching into place. Words were being said as it was happening, but he simply couldn't hear over the exquisite pain. Eventually he blacked out, unaware of his new form.

When he awoke again, he found himself over stimulated by the sound surrounding him, from the imps and cambions moving about to the screaming of something else for mercy, maybe lemure by sounds of it. The next thing to happen was his eyes fluttering open and almost immediately he could see that he was something entirely different now. Wyll could feel a set of legs, where he hadn't had them before and his head was heavy as if he once more had a set of horns.

He was just starting to move when he heard a younger cambion girl greet him, followed by the aroma of something delicious in front of him; a bowl of flesh, with various spices added in. His mouth watered at its smell and instantly made his way to the bowl, devouring it as if he were starving, ravaging it. What followed was a satisfying hum, his devilish tail swinging happily as he finished his meal.

The mention of Mizora caused his ears to straighten up, his tailing continuously swaying back and forth at the prospect of seeing her. 'Mizora? Did she change me? I don't remember having limbs before. Where is she?' No words cames out of his mouth, but they went directly into the cambions mind, though he was amazed he could do so. 'What am I?'

astarion - i'm so smart they're never gonna find out i'm a vampire - ancunin

oh! I need to make a headcanon on several things, but being as Wyll is my most active, I might focus more on his stuff. Including noting that he has a tail as well with his horns after being the change.

SO much I still need to do as well as replies, oops

😴 My muse wakes up in the middle of the night to find your muse injured - Wyll / Karlach

Wyll had been laying in his bedroll, for quite a while when he heard the sound of commotion. From what he could tell, everyone in camp was accounted for, save for the vampire that had snuck off not long ago. As such he hadn't done in the way of moving towards the commotion. Not until his eyes glanced towards Karlachs tent and bedroll, noting her missing too. "Oh shit." As worry took over, Wyll got to his feet and rushed over to the sound of said noise.

By the time he had gotten there, Karlach had seemed to take care of the perpetrators, which were a few goblins. But she didn't come away from it unscathed, as he noted that her leg seemed to be bleeding. More than that, it seemed like they had done more than just scratch her up....

"Karlach, are you okay? Why didn't you call out for help? " Wyll rushed over to her, kneeling on the ground to get a good look at the injury. "We need to get to camp, now." Wyll glanced up at her in concern. "Let me help you get back and we will take care of this wound. If Shadowheart isn't awake I'll see what I can do."

Wyll wrapped an arm around her waist and then the other lifted her hand to be placed just over his shoulder. "What were you thinking? Taking them on by yourself? Gods dammit, I know you're tough but that's what we are here for. You even have the blade of frontiers at your service." Of course if Mizora had her way, Karlach would be long suffering the hells of Avernus. He let out an exasperated sigh. "In any case, sorry I didn't notice sooner." @ferinehuntress

okay so I just reached proper romance level with wyll and my tav and my heart is just so happy right now.

The loss of her mother had been a significant one. One that had shook her to very core and made it harder to live day to day. Some days it was easier than most, to hold back the pain she felt at the loss of her mother. However, days like today it was hard to tuck it away and it the pain would make itself known. Her dear beloved Aylin tried to help, but nothing soothed her broken soul at the loss of her mother.

As bad it was for her, she could only imagine how hard it was for her father. The pain he felt had, she was sure, was so much more intense than hers. After all, while she had lost a mother, he had lost the love of his life; the mother of his child. Gods, Isobel couldn't stomach a reality without Aylin by her side, the one who had been sent to watch over them and had become so much more.

And so Isobel found herself seeking the company of her father, so that they may handle their grief together. That maybe the way he had distanced himself so had been his own way of grieving. Isobel was adament that he did not have to do this alone. What she discovered when she sought him out, however...

"What....What is this, father?"

Her eyes went wide as she took in everything around her, the work that had her father had been doing. This was not in memory of her mother, nor was it done in worship to the beloved moon maiden that had graced them with her light. No, this was something else, something darker. Unpure.

"This... This is not right, father. Please tell me that what I am seeing, the words in which you are saying to me, is all a lie."

Isobel felt his had cup her cheek but she was simply in too much of a state of shock to react to the touch. The magic the lady of loss could provide would only serve to cause pain and suffering, far from the light the Moon Maiden had embraced them with. Isobel backed away from her father, shaking her head in...pain? In something she was not used to feeling, nor could she put into words.

"Mother would not have wanted this. Even in death she would not have wished for you to turn away from Selune. The lady of loss is the lady of lies, father! I know you're only doing this in grief, but this is not the way. You need not finish this, you can stop and turn back, come back to the light."

HOW MUCH CAN BE TAKEN FROM ONE MAN.

There was faith, but only just .. it was slipping a little bit with each and every single passing day. His faith in the goddess, it had never truly even been there to begin with, he had followed her, only because of his beloved, but for her to be taken from him, in such a cruel and harsh manner, for what reason, for what purpose, to whom grand design was it that she had to die when she had so much more left to give within the land, he never did get an answer for it and that was what ate away at his mind, his body and his soul, each and every single passing night.

“You where not meant to see this.”

As he stood there for the moment and looked at his daughter, she was not meant to see this, the work he has been doing, hidden in the depths, a new goddess that has answered his prayers, the goddess of loss had spoken to him and made such promises, of riches, power and what he wished for more than anything else, reward for his service. He had started it, away from everyone, out of sight and out of mind, to build her a temple under the earth itself, digging deeper and deeper, and at the same time, increasing the numbers within his army, of those who understand what he was building at moonrise and what the true intention was when he was ready.

“She speaks to me, she whispers to me in prayer, that she can return your mother to us, if I serve her.”

And he will serve her, with all that he has, he will finish this temple for her, he will finish the army for her, he will from moonrise, do as she wishes from him, and plunge this land into eternal darkness. Remove all the light and those he rules over, will fall into line and pledge themselves to her. Those who bow will live and those who refuse, he will crush them as he turned to his daughter and cupped the side of her face with his hand.

“I did not wish for you to see this, but now that you have, you can understand, everything I do, I do it for you, I’ll bring her back, by any means necessary, don’t allow this to concern you, there is nothing to fear in the darkness, I’ll protect you.”

🍷

(commission for @ DeeVee_Cake on twit!)

reblog if it's okay for people to mention your muse(s) in their threads!

Continued from here @shimmerbeasts

As a warlock and certainly one in pact with the likes of Mizora who treasured her secrets, Wyll knew how to tell when someone wasn't always telling the truth. Or rather when there was something they weren't saying. This was the case with Mizora and Jinx. For their parts, both had hide it well, the fact that they had agreed to a pact, but he had noticed the signs. Noticed that every time Mizora popped around, Jinx reacted differently from the rest of the party after the failure to kill Karlach. That had been his first sign.

By the time of the party, Wyll had collected enough mental Intel to have what he thought to be the truth, and this conversation with Jinx would prove him right or wrong. What he didn't expect was to feel so comfortable with it, however. Like before he was alone in a world where it was the popular opinion to hate Mizora, a half-fiend who had been a mother to him. Now he perhaps wouldn't be alone. In addition to that, he was still reeling from the kiss from the party, curious as to if it was genuine or if there was something more to it.

"I'm a warlock, just like you. The only poetry I make is with magic and prefer it that way." Wyll took the moment to properly sit next to her. "Besides all of this is simply an illusion of peace, a calm before a unavoidable storm. One you never see coming, but it's coming nonetheless."

His heart raced and his tail seemed to relax as she whispered the words confirming his suspicions. So she had made a deal with Mizora, after all. Instead of bothering him like it should have, he felt relieved.

"You need not whisper here, Jinx. I made sure that we would not have prying eyes, I promise you that and rest assured, Mizora did not tell me anything I just happen to have a keen eye. One of the many reasons why Mizora appreciates me, I'm sure." Wyll spoke with conviction, his voice showing no signs of a lie as he once more smiled at the tiefling. "Nor need you to be so defensive. I'm glad there is someone in my company that does not judge our mutual patron as the rest. "

Wyll found his tail wrapping around Jinx's, a sign that he only meant well. "I became aware of it before the party, but we never had a chance to speak alone properly until now. And as it is, I find myself curious why you did it? Perhaps if you tell me why, should Mizora allow us, I would tell you my story. The first person to know the truth."

Experience proved that no matter how kind many people seemed, there was always two sides to most of them. Whereas Wyll was exactly what he presented as a the time; the charismatic Blade of Frontiers whose goal was to be the hero humanity needed. It just so happened to be that the source of his power was that a fiend. Many didn't like this and though he had formed some semblance of friendships over the years, they crumbled the moment Mizora appeared. All of his efforts were for naught as most condemned him for making a deal with the devil yet again. Those losses he couldn't avoid...

Of course before that meant that he would only have Mizora's company and could not trust that events wouldn't be repeated. Yet Wyll had faith that this particular group wasn't like the rest, especially Karlach. Karlach might not like Mizora, nor would she approve of his deal, but she had become a quick friend. And yet not even she could dream of touching an ounce of the connection that he and Mizora shared. How intricately bound he was to her.

The most, Mizora was the monster underneath ones bed. A devil whom was responsible for so much wrong, like the many other devil's. That wasn't what Wyll saw, what he experienced over the last seven years. The motherly mask she wore was more than just a mask for him. Did she manipulate him at times? Surely. Wyll, however, did not care about that. She meant well for him, in a twisted way, and had made him exactly what she had promised she would. A monster hunter.

"Without you the Blade of Frontiers wouldn't exist, plan and simple. Even before that child. I would be a fool to say otherwise. There was no one else to encourage me." Everyone else had left, always would.

Oh how Mizora knew how to entice the darker parts of the warlock with mere words. As their tails wrapped around each other, he could see the image of the statue she described. Wyll could see his brilliantly sculpted statue, horns and tail included. This statue didn't strike fear however, no, crowds surrounded it and praised it. A statue of a true hero. It was all he ever wanted, and somehow felt more satisfying than getting recognition from his father. His moved excitedly in response.

"I'll admit the idea is certainly enticing, but I would be a fool to assume they would readily accept a devil as their hero." His excitement died down at that thought. Wyll could no longer hide behind a normal face, his truth all but laid bare for the world to see. "To get to that position, I am afraid I will lose a part of myself along the way. Maybe I won't be the man I am now, who knows."

Wyll quickly froze in place as an image of himself was conjured before him with minor illusion and it wasn't just any image of himself. It was an image of him before he had made the deal and sold his soul to Mizora. He took a deep breath and stood then, approaching the image, running his hand through the projection.

Gods this boy was nothing like the man he was now. No, this was a boy who had yet to see a true tragedy. His face was so thin and untouched by the cruelty that would befall him, eyes so full of hope and promise. A boy who wished to earn his fathers love and respect, but was also afraid. Even seeing the way he was dressed then, reminded him of all that he had lost that day. Of the fate his father had put him through. The last time those eyes were pure.

"I remember being this boy, a product of my father, down to the last thread on that finely tailored coat. He wasn't ready to see the world how it truly was and yet he was forced too." Wyll clenched his fist and shook his head as he turned to face Mizora, willing the image to go away as he felt his heart ache. "And it was that boy who lead me here, the death of everything I was and brought about my rebirth. You're right, I'm stronger than that now. More prepared."

While Mizora was away, Wyll was left to simmer on his hatred towards Gortash. That snake had weaseled his way into his father's good graces, or at least had tried to but Wyll had seen him for what he was. He alone knew Gortash's intent and got in his way at every chance, to prevent him from taking a foothold in a legacy that wasn't his. For Wyll was the rightful heir, not him, despite wanting nothing to do with the role. But he would have taken it, if it meant Gortash didn't. However, it seemed that after his father kicked him out, the bastard had managed to do the impossible and that enraged the Warlock.

So by the time Mizora returned and read the clause, Wyll was engulfed in a rage he couldn't control. Soon it would consume him entirely if he didn't get better reins on it. His lone eye burned with that anger, a show of his infernal fury. It wasn't until he felt his gaze on her that he turned his attention to her, the rage still in his eye. The offer called out to him and he knew he couldn't refuse.

"I will not hesitate to hunt Gortash down like the piece of trash he has always been," Wyll said in a gutteral tone as he clenched his fists tightly now, his hands turning more white by the second. "The only disappointment that I will feel is knowing that after he dies I won't be able to personally torture him myself for all that he has done. Maybe I can make his death painful..." The darkness in him was making itself known, before he managed to calm himself down. "When do you want me to start?"

"Ah, ah, ah", Mizora cut him off, "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, pet. For now, I will keep a close watch on your playmates and judge myself if they are ready to learn more about us. Being well-meaning only gets you so far. After all, how many well-meaning people did you meet in your travels and the moment I appeared, they all ran for the hills screaming? Or grabbed the pitchforks?" She chuckled darkly.

Even with the summoning circle limiting her movement, the way Mizora cubbed Wyll's cheek was intimate and familiar. It was a motion so natural, it felt like breathing. Even if indeed Mizora had started this ploy to tighten the leash on Wyll and keep her warlock close by her side, eventually the motherly mask she wore, had fused with her own skin, it felt less like a role and more like a second home somedays. She could see the relief in his face, the knowledge that even if he were to be damned to all the Nine Hells, he would always have her to fall back on.

"That's my puppy", Mizora whispered and the soft sincerity in her words made them sound all the sweeter, "Such a good boy. And of course, you can always count on me. I will take good care of you, no matter what."

She could feel Wyll's pride at the thought of gaining more power by taking his father's position as the Grand Duke. She could his heart leaping into his throat from his excitement and fear of his encroaching darkness. The fact that he could be valiant and kind to those he cared for, but wicked and frightening to those who dared to harm what was his seemed to be a razor's edge, on which her puppy was still unable to balance.

Mizora smiled and said soothingly: "Of course, you do not need a stature like your father. You are a living, breathing legend already. Even so, isn't the thought of a stature enticing?" Her tail wrapped around his and her eyes glittered as if she meant to hypnotise him. "You live on, not just in words, but in a stature of yourself, pointing with your rapier at a foe, curved horns polished to perfection. You look valiant and bold, chivalrous and brave. The perfect image of the fantasy, you always had since you were young. The Blade of Frontiers becomes immortalised in the songs and tales of the bards. And nobody has to know the black soul of the man called Wyll Ravenguard."

At his question, Mizora cast a minor illusion of himself when he had been much younger. When Wyll Ravenguard had signed his contract seven years ago, his upbringing as the son of a Grand Duke had shown more than it did nowadays. Dressed in an ostentatious, fine jacket of deep blue, almost black satin, decorated with sequins and pearls, he had looked thin and frail with a sleeker face, showing traces of baby fat on his cheeks and a body, which seemed ill-fit for his rich attire, swallowing him up. His eyes had both been healthy and some of the prettiest peepers, Mizora had ever seen. They had been filled with awe and fear, but also determination and courage.

Mizora mused: "I do not know the answer to that question, Wyll. Your former self might be fearful of the man, you are now, but I feel that fear would not have lasted long. You are much braver than you give yourself credit for, puppy. You are far more capable of handling an unexpected thread, coming your way."

Witnessing Wyll's rage over Gortasch was glorious and it got Mizora thinking. "Be a good puppy and stay put", she told the warlock, "I will be right back."

Hellfire surrounded her and her body turned into blood, sinking into the ground. Within a few seconds, a new ring of hellfire spawned and Mizora reshaped herself from the same boiling, bubbling blood on the floor. As she folded her wings on her back, Wyll saw a thick stack of strangely glowing papers under her arm.

Mizora explained: "This is the contract, Gortasch signed with my mistress Zariel. While I am no pact holder, I was still involved with working out the fine print and details." She smiled sweetly as she turned the pages over in her hands. "My mistress is fearsome in battle and cunning enough, but even she recognises I have the better finesse for pacts, my pet. Now let me check something."

Mizora skimmed through the pages at a neck-breaking pace. Her eyes were glowing an ominous red as she drank in the entire information of the pact. Midway through flipping through the pages, she suddenly stopped and jabbed a clawed finger at a paragraph. Mizora smirked, allowing Wyll a glimpse of the Cambion's fangs.

She raised a finger as she recited: "Clause Z, Section 15: The soul bearer's payment of choice for the delivered goods, shall be blood money. Said blood money shall be defined as Karlach Cliffgate. Section 16: Failure to deliver the blood money or for it to be kept in the soul binder's immediate vicinity shall elevate the soul bearer of all protections granted by the Fires of Avernus."

Mizora closed the contract and gave Wyll a wolfish, pleased grin. "Karlach is currently nowhere near my mistress' vicinity, therefore Gortasch is violating Section 16. Sure, Zariel is allowing Karlach to, currently, not be in Avernus, but Gortasch does not know that. Meaning I am free to void his protections against the devils of Avernus and their aids, meaning you. So what do you say, pupster? Do you want to bring down Gortasch for me? You were such a good pet, so consider this a treat."

RIGHT SO. Two major Isobel things (important to note.)

One, while talking with Panda, we discussed the idea of lycanthropy among some selunites. As a result because I got super inspired, Isobel is one definitely a lycanthrope! It was something she inherited from her mother, though she did not have the ability to shift to a wolf. However, whilst out she ended up being bitten by one during the full moon, which activated her genes. (pre-shadowcurse)

As such as started to be able to shift into a wolf, which at the time was pure white furred. Aylin was the only one who knew about this secret and typically kept her aware from others to avoid harming them, or worse. After being resurrected and having the undead taint, she still changes into a wolf, however now her wolfish appearance is black furred with white patches.

SECOND, I am officially creating a dark verse for Isobel! In this verse she never ran away from Ketheric and followed him willingly to Moonrise Towers. Eventually she converts from being a Selunite to a Myrkulite, claiming that the Moon Maiden abandoned her, just like she had her father. (Though unbeknownst to her He had turned on Selune.) This Isobel is very bitter in regards to the moon maiden, and does not require a tadpole to stay with her father. She also never met the harpers.

SHARLACH ✋🩷☝️

my addiction fr :9