the devil you know.

[graylust]

❛ ⸻ ⸻ i can be your 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒍𝒚, or i can be your 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑 !!

PRIV. / SEL. BG3 / HORROR OC , NEPHARIA GRAYLOCK. TRIGGERING THEMES AHEAD ! VERSES INCLUDE A COMPANION VERSE, ‘TAV’ VERSE, AND A MODERN HORROR AU.

a study in: predation and power dynamics, addiction and hunger, trauma and survival, identity and monstrosity, sex as a weapon; not an intimacy, seductive horror, the question of redemption, pleasure and pain are two sides of the same coin, self-destruction, the fear of being saved, monstrous femme fatale, the corrupting influence of power, a search for meaning in a meaningless existence.

𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖉 , 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖘 , 𝖛𝖎𝖘𝖚𝖆𝖑𝖘 , 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘 .

[graylust]

close starter | @imperitvs

The prisoner whimpers beneath her teasing claws, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His wrists strain against the chains binding him to the wooden contraption, his body trembling with the knowledge of what’s to come. Nepharia watches him with a languid sort of amusement, dragging the tip of one claw down the sweat-slicked column of his throat. Not deep enough to draw blood—not yet. Just enough to remind him how easily she could carve him open. ❛ Where is it? ❜ she purrs, voice low. ❛ The Grove. ❜ She doesn’t know who the fuck the Absolute even is, but the words tumble from her lips like scripture, devotion curling against her tongue like the heat of a brand. It should be funny—her, bowing to some nameless, faceless goddess. But it isn’t funny at all. It’s just true. The only thing that matters is the Absolute. The only thing that matters is—

And then, all at once, the world shifts.

A crack, a splinter in her mind, like a shackle snapping in two. The weight lifts, and everything comes rushing back. It slams into her with all the grace of a battering ram. The Absolute, whispering in her skull, a voice she had welcomed without hesitation. No—no, she hadn’t welcomed it. It had simply been. A constant, an inevitability. Her stomach turns. Her claws twitch above the prisoner’s heaving chest. What the fuck. The whimpering man before her ceases to exist for a moment. Her palm itches. Burns. She stares down at it, at the scar seared into her flesh, the grotesque sigil of a god she has never met, never worshipped—never would have worshipped. And then, another sensation. It’s sudden, invasive, a jagged, pulsing thing in the back of her skull. The world darkens at the edges, her vision splitting—not into two, but through two.

( She is falling. Her hands burn—too hot, too fast, magic slipping, failing. A girl’s face. Fear, desperation, love. A last-ditch effort—tucking the girl away, a hidden place, a safe place—before the mind flayer ship takes her. ) The image snaps apart, and her breath catches in her throat. She staggers, breathless from the sheer wrongness of it. Because it was not her own memory. Not her own pain. And someone else had just seen hers. ( A tall devil, attractive. Red eyes, burning like embers in the night. Giant leathery wings carrying her through the skies above the city of Baldur’s Gate—Then pain as a symbol is branded into pale flesh. Nepharia exhales sharply, lips curling as the haze clears. )

Her gaze lifts and she sees him. Ginger-haired, silver-eyed, standing amid a cluster of adventurers she barely registers. Slowly, deliberately, Nepharia lowers her hand from the prisoner’s trembling form and turns to face the group. She tilts her head, silver hair spilling over one shoulder, and lets her lips part into something almost like a smile. ❛ You here to help torture the prisoner for information about the grove? ❜ she drawls, voice smooth as silk, yet sharp as a blade.

❛ What? ❜ she presses, eyes alight with something wicked. ❛ Was True Soul Minthara afraid I’d go too far and spill his guts before he spilled his guts? ❜ She giggles at her own joke—light, airy, wrong. The sound is almost girlish, almost sweet, but it carries something else beneath it. Something jagged. Something dark. And yet, even as she laughs, even as she cocks a hip and plays the part she should be playing, she keeps her gaze locked onto his. Searching. Testing. Because she doesn’t know for sure yet if he’s one of them. But it’s starting to make sense to her as the seconds pass. She remembers the tadpole forced into her eye socket. How could she forget? This must have something to do with that. ❛ You a True Soul too? I ask because of the whole—seeing-each-other’s-thoughts-thing. Apparently all of the True Souls have this disgusting little worm in their heads, but if you tell Priestess Gut that she will swear up and down that she doesn’t have one. Delusional. This is a fucking cult. ❜

Just knowing some cult hijacked her mind with some gross alien parasite is pissing her off. But she can’t overtly blow her cover. Not yet. She’s far too outnumbered without backup. Perhaps this elf and his friends can be swayed if they aren’t in fact under the influence of this bullshit goddess.

[imperitvs]

What Gods had abandoned this place for it to have fallen so far? The very ground seemed soaked in a combination of bodily fluids...not a single one of them was to Osian's liking. He could barely hide his disdain for the smell as they trailed through the drunken hoard. Celebrating lives lost...what a ghastly ritual. One he tried to tiptoe around.

Inside the temple walls were not much better. Goblins had made their home here like a festering mould - every surface seemed overtaken by signs of their stay. As well as this cultic signage painted on almost every wall and banner. The wood elf wasn't sure which was worse - the smell of feculence outside, or the roasting flesh aroma they were greeted with once they entered the main chamber.

The goblins here seemed more at work here, conducting their terrible business. Osian knew their blood would no doubt be spilled soon... So to see them walking around, talking - living. It made him feel sick knowing he was going to be one of several to take that from them... To condemn them to darkness permanently. A life for a life...was that truly justice? Who would claim his life in retort? The cycle of murder would never end-

But just as he ascended the steps to the side, amongst the crowd of waywards that had gathered - wanting a better scope of the place - the now familiar pain struck him. It struck him from the top of the head and shocked it's way down his spine in an electric cascade. He grit his teeth hard, the pain so sudden he almost had to reach for a wall to steady himself. A hand to his forehead and visages flashed before him - ones he knew were not his.

A devil. Flight. And a searing pain across his cheeks and forehead. Just as it began, it ebbed away. Releasing the breath he had been holding in a single pant, his fingers felt at this cheeks - the smell of burnt flesh from the Priestess and the haze of the vision made him believe it was true for just a moment.

As his hand fell away, he felt eyes upon him from a smaller room. Looking in, he saw a pale visage of a tiefling...and a man strung up in chains - bleeding. She was speaking as if familiar to them. Seemed to single him out amongst the small crowd. Osian swallowed thickly, taking one step backwards - as if hoping to sink behind someone who could speak more clearly than he. Yet, there seemed to be a collection of either concerned side glances or smirks at the idea of watching him fumble once more.

So... Was he a True Soul? If she was one of them, and he denied it... No, no. This was different to the connections he felt with what seemed to be regular True Soul's. Stronger...more dangerous. He took a deep breath through his nose and spoke up.

"A True Soul...? No... A-At least not by choice." Osian tried his best to ignore the stronger glares from his companions - well they were welcome to step in at any moment now! Gods, what did he do in his previous life to earn this oppressive spotlight?

"I don't believe you are here by choice either... So why torture the man?" Osian gestured to the human shuddering in his trap. "L-Let him go... a-and we can talk freely..." By Corellon he was trying his best...

[graylust]

The elf stumbles over his words, uncertainty woven through every syllable. He speaks as if the weight of all eyes upon him is suffocating—like a boy thrust onto the stage of a play he never rehearsed for. Is he supposed to be the leader of this little band of misfits?

Nepharia’s silver gaze flickers over his companions, assessing, sifting through their faces like cards in a losing hand. Her eyes catch on the small green one. That one stands firm, poised like a blade mid-swing, eyes hard, unreadable. She has the stance of a leader. The elf does not. But his words interest her nonetheless. The smirk curling at her lips is slow, deliberate, but her eyes burn with something far sharper, far uglier. Her rage is a thing with teeth, slithering beneath her skin, coiling in her ribs like a caged beast. She is furious. Not at him, but at herself. Or—no. Not herself. The thing that stole her, the parasite writhing behind her skull, the Absolute.

She was owned. Again. Controlled like a doll on a string, bent to the will of something she never agreed to follow. And the worst part? She hadn’t even fought it. She had embraced it. She had spoken its name with reverence. She had believed. The prisoner shudders against the chains, but Nepharia has already lost interest in him. She steps back, claws flexing absently at her sides, her mind still unraveling the weight of her own fury. In truth, she’s done worse to men than this, and with far more enthusiasm. But this time? This time, she can say with absolute certainty—it wasn’t her choice.

Nepharia steps closer, slow, measured, her wings half-folded behind her, their edges skimming the torchlight. ❛ You’re sharp, aren’t you? Not well-spoken, but sharp.❜ Her lips quirk, but the smirk never quite reaches her eyes. ❛ No, I’m not here by choice. But now…❜ she exhales, silver gaze flickering, ❛ Now, suddenly, I do have a choice again. ❜ She gestures lazily, sweeping a hand toward the temple walls, the goblins still reveling in their drunken festivities. ❛ One moment, I was a True Soul. Whatever the fuck that means. And now? My mind is mine. ❜

She leans in, just enough to ensure they hear, but the goblins do not. ❛ And you lot, ❜ she continues, voice dropping into something quieter, something laced with intrigue, ❛ are the only new variable. ❜ She watches him closely, lets the words settle, lets the implications slither between them like smoke. And then, in a hushed whisper, she asks: ❛ Do you have any idea what the fuck this is? Because if you can help me, I can help you. ❜

[graylust]

gonna get to messages and replies this week! had a busy weekend.

[graylust]

[listslistslists]

𝕀 𝔻𝕚𝕤𝕒𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕖

a collection of lyrics from the album I Disagree (2020) by Poppy, use as you wish, adjust as needed // violence + dark themes present

These lifeless flavors don't satisfy me.

I need the taste of young blood in my teeth.

Everything in your life is a tragedy.

Burn it to the ground.

We'll be safe and sound when it all burns down.

Everything is going how it's meant to be.

If only all of you could see the world I see.

You keep preaching insanity.

What do you believe when no one is around?

Keep telling yourself that you've been playing nice.

Beg for forgiveness.

I finally know what it feels like to be dead.

Your soul can't be saved from the sins you've ignored.

I feel her heart beating in me.

Sorry for what I've become.

I'll stop when it's no more fun.

Let's see how far you're gonna take this.

You shouldn't be anything like me.

You'll never be anything like me.

This isn't a fight to be won.

I'm everything she never was.

Stop, you're making a scene.

You're coming at me with blood in your teeth.

Love is never-ending in me.

You can be anyone you want to be.

I believe you're the one who's meant for me.

Forgive your spirit.

Forfeit your life.

I'll keep you safe.

All I ever wanted, it was nothing I need.

All the power that you had, it just slipped away.

They would die for your position.

I'll never ask for permission

Do what you've been told

Sit.

Stay.

Lie down.

I will not obey you.

Don't cry, just bite your own teeth.

Don't ever, ever cry.

Keep on trying.

I'm sick of the sun.

I just want to float away.

I want it to go away.

Can someone turn the lights down?

Everyone told me that it would get better.

Every day feels exactly the same.

Lock the doors and find a place to hide.

Everyone is bland.

Don't go outside.

Shut your mouth, give up, and fall in line.

Everything will be okay.

Hey there, tool, I'm looking at you.

Why is everyone screaming so loud for no reason?

Why do words have no meaning?

We know you're losing it.

You can't be bothered to try.

You're in a mindless rush to die.

I dare you.

I can make you afraid.

I can make you obey.

I can make you ugly.

Look away if you feel unsafe.

I'm happy that the world is gonna end.

Do you get the feeling someone's after you?

Now they're closing in, there's nothing you can do.

It's just a dream.

I tried my best to find my peace.

Don't disconnect everything we've built up.

I've given up too much to let this take me out.

Don't ask me how I'm feeling.

There's nothing to talk about.

How could anything ever be the same?

Change is on its way and it waits for no one.

It’s not my fault.

[graylust]

close starter | @imperitvs

The prisoner whimpers beneath her teasing claws, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His wrists strain against the chains binding him to the wooden contraption, his body trembling with the knowledge of what’s to come. Nepharia watches him with a languid sort of amusement, dragging the tip of one claw down the sweat-slicked column of his throat. Not deep enough to draw blood—not yet. Just enough to remind him how easily she could carve him open. ❛ Where is it? ❜ she purrs, voice low. ❛ The Grove. ❜ She doesn’t know who the fuck the Absolute even is, but the words tumble from her lips like scripture, devotion curling against her tongue like the heat of a brand. It should be funny—her, bowing to some nameless, faceless goddess. But it isn’t funny at all. It’s just true. The only thing that matters is the Absolute. The only thing that matters is—

And then, all at once, the world shifts.

A crack, a splinter in her mind, like a shackle snapping in two. The weight lifts, and everything comes rushing back. It slams into her with all the grace of a battering ram. The Absolute, whispering in her skull, a voice she had welcomed without hesitation. No—no, she hadn’t welcomed it. It had simply been. A constant, an inevitability. Her stomach turns. Her claws twitch above the prisoner’s heaving chest. What the fuck. The whimpering man before her ceases to exist for a moment. Her palm itches. Burns. She stares down at it, at the scar seared into her flesh, the grotesque sigil of a god she has never met, never worshipped—never would have worshipped. And then, another sensation. It’s sudden, invasive, a jagged, pulsing thing in the back of her skull. The world darkens at the edges, her vision splitting—not into two, but through two.

( She is falling. Her hands burn—too hot, too fast, magic slipping, failing. A girl’s face. Fear, desperation, love. A last-ditch effort—tucking the girl away, a hidden place, a safe place—before the mind flayer ship takes her. ) The image snaps apart, and her breath catches in her throat. She staggers, breathless from the sheer wrongness of it. Because it was not her own memory. Not her own pain. And someone else had just seen hers. ( A tall devil, attractive. Red eyes, burning like embers in the night. Giant leathery wings carrying her through the skies above the city of Baldur’s Gate—Then pain as a symbol is branded into pale flesh. Nepharia exhales sharply, lips curling as the haze clears. )

Her gaze lifts and she sees him. Ginger-haired, silver-eyed, standing amid a cluster of adventurers she barely registers. Slowly, deliberately, Nepharia lowers her hand from the prisoner’s trembling form and turns to face the group. She tilts her head, silver hair spilling over one shoulder, and lets her lips part into something almost like a smile. ❛ You here to help torture the prisoner for information about the grove? ❜ she drawls, voice smooth as silk, yet sharp as a blade.

❛ What? ❜ she presses, eyes alight with something wicked. ❛ Was True Soul Minthara afraid I’d go too far and spill his guts before he spilled his guts? ❜ She giggles at her own joke—light, airy, wrong. The sound is almost girlish, almost sweet, but it carries something else beneath it. Something jagged. Something dark. And yet, even as she laughs, even as she cocks a hip and plays the part she should be playing, she keeps her gaze locked onto his. Searching. Testing. Because she doesn’t know for sure yet if he’s one of them. But it’s starting to make sense to her as the seconds pass. She remembers the tadpole forced into her eye socket. How could she forget? This must have something to do with that. ❛ You a True Soul too? I ask because of the whole—seeing-each-other’s-thoughts-thing. Apparently all of the True Souls have this disgusting little worm in their heads, but if you tell Priestess Gut that she will swear up and down that she doesn’t have one. Delusional. This is a fucking cult. ❜

Just knowing some cult hijacked her mind with some gross alien parasite is pissing her off. But she can’t overtly blow her cover. Not yet. She’s far too outnumbered without backup. Perhaps this elf and his friends can be swayed if they aren’t in fact under the influence of this bullshit goddess.

[crownmemes]

Warning Sentences

(Sentences for warning muses of upcoming trouble. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"You've lost your reputation, and a reputation's life glass: once cracked it can never be repaired."

"Say that again and your career is over."

"I'm trying to warn your that your attitude is going to bite you in the ass!"

"I warned you; don't get involved."

"Once you've opened your heart, you can't close it again."

"If you think I'm the type who won't shoot you in the back, you're wrong."

"Let me make it clear to you that you are in no position to dictate terms."

"Bite my hand, and I will put you down."

"Be careful. You're too beautiful to die."

"There was a time when I would have gladly killed you, and there may come a time when I gladly shall."

"I'd tread very carefully if I were you. You, of all people, should know what I am capable of."

"Before you speak another word, I ask you to consider this: how valuable is your life?"

"You're causing everybody quite a bit of trouble. If you want a word of warning: don't keep it up."

"If you keep going where you're going, you're going to find trouble - whether it was there to begin with or not."

"I warned you not to succumb to temptation!"

"The danger is not over. It's just begun."

"You'll end up falling out with everyone if you carry on like this!"

"I'm warning you once: stay away from things that are none of your business."

"From now on, you will stay out of this. "

"A wise man would walk away from this house and make a concerted effort to forget everything that occurred last night."

"Don't you know it's dangerous to sneak up on an armed man?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to destroy you."

"Don't look for it. You may not like what you find."

"This whole thing is a trap!"

"If you want to live to see another day, you'll be out of town by nightfall."

"Do I need to remind you what happened last time you pushed me too far?"

"You're either really dumb, or you're trying to provoke me, which also makes you really dumb."

"Sometimes, what we wake up can't be put back to sleep."

"You've used the threat of violence against my family twice now, for the sake of your own personal well-being, I really wouldn't again."

"You're not going to survive coming after me."

"You are delving into areas over which you have no authority."

"I'm warning you; no more questions!"

"If this continues, it won't be long until you've got nothing left."

"You're coming up on your last chance to turn back."

"I must warn you that my patience is not inexhaustible."

"We stay out of other people's business out here, if you catch my drift."

"Don't ever defy me again."

"I warned you, but you didn't heed me."

"Don't ask again or I'll kill you."

"I must warn you, you are about to set a very dangerous precedent."

"Mark my words: I'm not one to play games."

"You should be more afraid of me."

[graylust]

closed starter | @vampsyred

The others keep their distance, though they try not to make it obvious. She can feel their eyes on her. Wyll, in particular, watches her as one might a coiled viper, fingers twitching near the hilt of his blade as though expecting her to lash out at any moment. She doesn’t blame him. If their places were reversed, she’d probably be plotting his murder too. But Nepharia doesn’t intend to die tonight. She moves through the camp like a shadow, languid and unhurried, a feline creature stretching its claws but not yet striking. When she stops, it’s by Astarion’s tent. There’s something in his posture, in the way his crimson eyes catch the light, that reminds her of herself. A little too smooth. A little too practiced. A predator knows a predator.

She tilts her head, lips curving, and breaks the silence between them with something that is not quite a question, not quite an observation—more like a game piece placed delicately on the board. ❛ Do you ever get the feeling that people are silently plotting all the ways they can kill you? ❜ It is not spoken with fear, nor with paranoia, but with amusement, as if the thought is something to be entertained rather than dreaded.

❛ Perhaps it’s just my predatory nature, ❜ she continues, voice dripping with feigned contemplation, ❛ but I’m beginning to feel a tad bit outnumbered here. ❜ The smirk playing at her lips makes it clear—if she is worried, she certainly doesn’t feel outnumbered. Let them try.

❛ I don’t trust devils either, so I can’t necessarily say I blame the lot of you. ❜ Her fingers trail idly along the tent’s fabric, slow, absent, as if merely passing the time. ❛ But to find yourself in a situation where you and a devil happen to be working toward the same goal? I wouldn’t say that’s a terrible problem to have. ❜ Her eyes flash as her smile spreads, a sickly sweet thing, honeyed and venom-laced all at once. ❛ Not when I can be so very useful. ❜ She lingers on the words, stretching them like silk spun between her fingers. Her tone is smooth, suggestive in a way that is both intentional and not, a natural cadence rather than an invitation. Nepharia does not flirt. She hunts. The difference, she’s found, is often lost on most. Astarion, though—he might not be most.

[crownmemes]

Penny Dreadful Sentences, Vol. 3

(Sentences from Penny Dreadful (2014-2016). Adjust phrasing where needed)

"My shame is my own to live with, and I shall."

"True evil is, above all things, seductive."

"You're a very interesting man. You can't be as pure as your face suggests."

"You must like hidden things, for you hide things very well."

"Tell me your secrets, and I'll tell you mine."

"Scientifically speaking, life's nothing but a series of chemical reactions."

"I have been much feared and hated in my life."

"I've not had many friends in my time, but I'm proud to count you among them."

"Do your ambitions not exceed this?"

"I've tasted success, and it's a meal I now wish to devour."

"How many scattered corpses will you leave in your bloody wake before your life has run its course?"

"You offer me a normal life. Why do you think I want that anymore?"

"I was not made to scream."

"I promise you we'll be less afraid tomorrow."

"You can't die until you've served your purpose."

"You know you have a further destiny. Let this be it."

"Don't flatter me. I know what I am."

"Hunting a man is no great thing. They're slow and predictable, and they can be found always where their appetites lead them."

"I'm not the man you knew. There's blood on my teeth, and in my soul, I think."

"I've always loved the ocean and felt great affection for creatures of the deep."

"Thank you for tonight. It's meant more to me than I can say."

"I'll never forget your name again."

"Has my utility not been amply demonstrated?"

"Has my allegiance not been proved?"

"If you cannot endure the nightmare, you should not lie down for the sleep."

"Before you speak another word, I ask you to consider this: how valuable is your life?"

"Because I murder with will and not like a blind animal, you think me a monster. Yet, how many corpses have you left in your wake?"

"I want to liberate your truest self: the beast that prowls around your heart."

"In this mortal world, you'll always be shunned for your uniqueness - but not with me."

"I will love you for who you are."

"You have no sense of the terrors I will bring onto you."

"You think we're the same? Fellow outcasts?"

"I have no intention of repenting."

"You must be quick, and you must be vicious."

"Usually, folk would have run a mile by now. Most people find me rather off-putting."

[graylust]

closed starter | @elfbled

The night is thick with hunger. It clings to Nepharia’s skin like a fever, curling around her bones, whispering in the back of her mind in that sickly sweet voice she knows all too well. Feed, it says. Take. Consume. She grits her teeth against the ache within her, against the gnawing, insatiable void clawing at her sanity. Too long. Too long without a soul. The longer she waits, the worse it gets—the restlessness, the irritability, the feeling that she might rip someone’s throat out just to see if it will make her feel something other than this cursed, aching need.

The others sleep soundly in their bedrolls, oblivious. But Astarion—where is Astarion? His absence registers as a dull irritation in the back of her mind, but she doesn’t have the energy to wonder why. Her wings unfurl the moment she’s far enough from camp. The wind rushes against her face, cool and sharp, as she ascends into the sky. Hunt. Feed. It’s a chant in her blood, pulsing beneath her skin like a second heartbeat. And then, she smells it. Not lust, not quite. But something close. Feral excitement, primal and dark, laced with the coppery tang of fresh blood. It calls to her, sets something low in her belly alight. She banks toward it, following the scent. Her clawed bare feet touch down onto dirt, toes curling against the earth as she folds her wings behind her. She steps forward, slow and deliberate, the alleyway yawning before her like the open mouth of some starving beast. And there he is. The way his pale hands clutch at the writhing beast, fingers digging into coarse fur, holding it down. The wet, obscene sound of him drinking—tearing, draining—like a starved animal. She fucking knew it. A predator knows a predator.

An empty glass bottle on the ground catches the side of her foot before she can stop it, and the sound it makes as it rolls over the gravel is like a gunshot in the quiet. ❛ Fuck. ❜ No point in hiding now. She steps fully into the alleyway, the glow of her silver eyes catching against the dark, her smirk curling like the edge of a blade. ❛ Well, ❜ she purrs, voice dripping with amusement, ❛ it would appear the vampire and the devil were both just let out of the bag. ❜

Her wings shift behind her, slow and deliberate, the barest hint of a stretch before she tucks them close to her spine again. Her eyes drag over him, from the blood smeared across his lips to the tension still coiled in his limbs. The scent of his indulgence—his pleasure—it’s a whisper against her skin, a cruel tease against the yawning ache inside her. ❛ I could smell your hedonism from miles away. ❜ It is not an accusation. It is approval. Her gaze dips—to his hands, to the red-streaked spill of his hunger. Then back to him, to his bloodstained lips, to the glint of something dark and hollow in his gaze. Gods, how she wishes to take what she desires here and now, the way Astarion has with this boar. Do vampires even have souls if they aren’t technically alive…? Only one way to find out…

[wildspringday]

samara weaving via instagram

[graylust]

busy day today but i will write some starters tomorrow when i can !!

[hellyheresy]

Ginger Snaps (2000)

[graylust]

[graylust]

activity will start on this blog some time next week when i have more time. i am so excited to write my demon baby again !! nepharia is a muse i’ve had for a few years now, i took a long break from roleplay and now i am back with neph once again. :)

[graylust]

[graylust]

𝑵𝒆𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒂 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝑮𝒂𝒎𝒆.

Nepharia Graylock is a chaotic evil warlock/rogue companion who can be recruited at the Goblin Camp. She is a fiendish force of nature—manipulative, cruel, darkly charming, and entirely self-serving. However, her priority isn’t world domination ( yet ); it’s getting the godsdamned tadpole out of her skull before it turns her into a disgusting freak. For now, that means sticking close to the player and their party. She thrives in chaos, revels in violence, and flirts with death like an old lover. But despite her devil-may-care attitude, Neph isn’t just another murder-happy psychopath. She’s smart. Tactical. She knows she needs the party, which means playing nice. For now.

Recruitment.

Nepharia can be found at the Goblin Camp, where she’s taken up residence after the Nautiloid crash. She was pulled into the Absolute’s influence but snapped out of it once Tav arrived with the artifact. This has pissed her off immensely. She’s in the torture chamber, getting ready to flay the grove’s prisoner with her claws, frustrated at the way her mind had been stolen from her. When approached, she’s immediately suspicious of Tav and the party, trying to gauge how useful they might be.

Regardless of your choices, Nepharia wants to join because she needs to get to Baldur’s Gate—where she was supposed to be before the Nautiloid abducted her. She has unfinished business.

Nepharia’s Main Quest.

Nepharia was sent to Baldur’s Gate by her patron to seduce and kill Lord Enver Gortash, claiming his soul as tribute. But the Mindflayer abduction derailed everything, and now she’s stuck with a parasite in her brain.

Her main quest involves:

Tracking down Gortash—who is one of the most powerful figures in Baldur’s Gate.

Dealing with her patron—who is not happy about her delay and will be testing her loyalty.

Choosing her own fate—will she fulfill her contract and surrender Gortash’s soul, or will she finally rebel against her master and take her own destiny into her hands?

Tav can influence her path, pushing her toward independence and personal growth or deeper into the abyss.

Nepharia’s Romance.

Nepharia is romanceable, but at a cost. Sleeping with her grants her power—she absorbs a fragment of your life force, gaining a +1 to all attack rolls the next morning ( +5 if she takes an entire soul ). The player, however, wakes up with a -1 to all attack rolls, which can be removed with Lesser Restoration.

What She Wants in a Lover.

Passion, danger, and a challenge. Nepharia enjoys seducing and being seduced, but she’s drawn to those who can match her wit and push back against her arrogance.

People who understand power. Whether you wield magic, influence, or brute strength, she respects those who take what they want.

Moral corruption. If player is already dark-leaning, she’ll thrive on leading them further into sin. If player is good-hearted, she’ll test them—trying to see how far she can push them.

Emotional Depth & Character Growth.

She does not believe in love. Love, to her, is a weakness. A tool of control. If player shows genuine care for her, she’ll fight it—mock it, reject it, sabotage it. But deep down, a part of her wants to be proven wrong.

If a romanced player chooses to redeem her, she may soften over time—becoming slightly less destructive.

If a romanced player joins her in darkness, they can become a legendary power couple, ruling through seduction and bloodshed.

Approval System.

Nepharia Approves.

Engaging in witty banter. Flirting with her? Even better.

Killing enemies instead of sparing them.

Complimenting her, even if she acts unimpressed.

Helping children and slaves. She hates slavers.

Stealing and embracing your own desires.

Keeping Scratch and the Owlbear cub in camp. Though she’ll deny caring.

Embracing power. Why fight the darkness? Take it.

Defying gods, masters, and anyone who thinks they own you.

Licking the spider. Do it, coward.

Nepharia Disapproves.

Helping people for no gain. Why waste time on this shit?

Being too self-righteous. Spare me your moral compass.

Defending the gods. They don’t give a shit about you. Get over it.

Showing weakness. Crying? Gross.

Nepharia’s Camp Setup.

Her tent is a gothic mess—dark red and black tapestries, candlelight flickering against fabric walls covered in macabre decorations. She collects random trinkets like a crow, scattering bones, coins, and stolen objects around her space.

Her book collection is a mix of:

Infernal history ( half-burned books on archdevils ).

Erotic literature ( some well-read, some defaced with rude commentary ).

Bloodstained journals that she never explains.

Endgame Paths.

The Good Ending: A Devil’s Redemption.

Nepharia kills her patron, refuses to absorb the hoarded souls, and earns her freedom for the first time in her life. She fights alongside the player to save the city, but after the battle, she faces a new challenge—what does she do now? She’s still a fiend, still hungry, but for the first time… she has a choice.

The Evil Ending: Ascension to Godhood

Nepharia kills her patron… and takes his place. She absorbs the souls he hoarded and becomes the most powerful devil in existence. The Hells bow before her. Baldur’s Gate is hers to rule, and the entire material plane? Just another playground for her to corrupt.