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[queenofkur]

Yes, those are the vibes for this blog!

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[queenofkur]

//it's ezell's bday tomorrow...should've waited with posting that but oh well

[dcviated]

It dawns on the Sankta, under the shade of her persisting accomodation, that he feels fine. Has felt fine, actually, for some moments prior. It was in the comfort of the arrangement Ezell had subconsciously taken the preference to remain this way while conversing. This strange yet earnest 'goddess'...

...the one who so kindly stroked at his face.

"...uh!!" It's not as abrupt as the first time, but he does part from the cushion of her thigh, once the pleasant daze of her touch to his head has faded and given him the necessary clarity (sans the burn to his cheeks that had reached its zenith in those final moments) "Yes, I'm feeling a lot better now, I think! But I still have no idea how to properly thank you. Answering your questions is fine... but. Anyway."

Though he visibly falters at compiling the answers. Her perspective and posturing of relevant parties confuses him in the worst of ways. Returning to his feet at least doesn't have him stumbling. And he takes for himself a proper posture for the first time since being in her presence.

"I believe in heaven, yes. Somewhere we go after we pass on, so the teachings say. But you're talking as if it's workings are something normal mortals like us would have seen firsthand. That's... as far as I'm aware, not the case. Nobody with their heads on straight at least." An old part of his gut wants to loose the word 'heresy' at some of what Ereshkigal is suggesting. The same part that remains wary of Sarkaz.

An old part to grow past. But this is another machination entirely, isn't it? No longer does he have the excuse of a pounding head to misunderstand what she was saying with utmost confidences.

"I wouldn't have imagined the afterlife to be something handled such a way. Dealing with souls. Minions. Uh, sheep? For as much as you claim to deal with you don't present yourself quite as I would have... expected." Ezell wrinkles his brow in pensive consideration, reflecting on some of the officials back at Laterano. Well, perhaps her attitudes wouldn't be so out of the norm there.

"-or what that has to do with why you're here in Kazdel. I guess its comforting knowing there's someone more out of place here than I am."

[queenofkur]

As quickly as Ezell retreats from his resting position, so does Ereshkigal rise to her feet. She retrieves her cloak, busying herself with patting dust off the fabric, holding the item higher than need be to cover her face. This encounter has turned far too awkward for her liking, and she only turns to face Ezell after regaining her composure.

Although it doesn’t feel as if she recovered much of it, and it swiftly evaporates once more. Nevermind context, Ereshkigal’s focus turns sharp as a burning lens, directed solely towards the sore spot Ezell hit without his knowing.

“Huh?—What do you mean by that? How else would I present myself? Am I not impressive enough as I am now?!”

Reddened cheeks puff, rendering her efforts to assume a more regal pose utterly futile. If angels in this world are just another type of mortal, then it figures they’d fall prey to the same kinds of stupidity as the rest of them, overbearing imaginations turning the gods into impressive yet often terrifying beings. Ereshkigal’s Pseudo-Servant form can’t possibly keep up with such expectations.

“What should I do? Should I turn into my ghost form? But that would only scare him…” After a moment of contemplation, she dismisses the idea with a huff.

“Well, whatever. It’s not like I need worshippers in this world, anyway.” It would be nice to have them, though. “I may be out of place, but if I hadn’t come here for landscape paintings, you’d be dead right now, so be grateful!” A pause. “Landscape photography.” A sorry excuse either way.

“Anyway, I may not know how things work in this world, but in mine — well, to me, the underworld isn’t some far-off realm shrouded in mystery. It is a place of duty. It is my responsibility to shepherd the souls, to tend to them as well as I’m able. To ease the suffering they have endured before their passing…” She gazes across the scalded land surrounding them, the strange rock formations in the distance, sharp and unnatural.

“A soul in anguish can bring much harm over the living, if left to wander. I’d imagine a world without someone to guide those broken spirits would sink into chaos before long. There has to be someone in that heaven of yours taking care of it then, even if it’s not angels. Or… Well, I’m sure it’s fine.”

[screenshotsofdespair]

[screenshotsofdespair]

[dcviated]

She can say she was not a Sarkaz, she can present confusion about their concepts. And yet. From what he had read and recently seen, there was something uncomfortably similar about these abilities which Ereshkigal was utilizing. Cages, spirits, blessings. The names were unimportant compared to what was demonstrated. Apparitions. Roiling red clouds.

He noticeably holds his breath, tensing in her lap when it happens with a hand braced on the ground. For all the good that would surely do. Particularly in the wake of the effect, soothing him further down from the pain of the venom- in turn alleviating the anxieties he felt. Some of them. He remains rather aware of his current location.

"Thank you. I doubt I can say that enough. And right now just about anything will help our situation. I'm not exactly capable at the moment, after all. Hm. I owe you at least an attempt to... answer your... questions."

Voice lilts upward almost as if that were to be posed as a question in itself. Were he in different circumstances he'd pull out a pen and paper, anticipating a strange net of information about to be revealed. Points to remember and mull over later.

"What do you mean, er, as is? Like a robot? That's... no. We're Sankta. I had a mother and father just like anyone else. As did Cecelia. Though her mother passed away recently, and mine- well. They're fine." Normal executors actually, unlike... himself. How quickly that table had turned. "And Phidia ... I... er... Miss Ereshkigal? Are you... not from around here? I can almost understand not knowing some of these things. But even Cecelia, who's spent almost her entire life staying at home was able to..."

Hold on, lets not compare a self-proclaimed goddess to an 8 year old. Logic dictates they might not exactly appreciate that. All of this is counter productive to him resting while we're at it. Eyes are lidded, a sigh escapes him.

"Phidia are a race typically denoted by having a scaled and serpentine tail. Though some have other features. Arts are a term for abilities and powers granted by originium crystals. My firearm uses them, for example. But, seeing as I've yet to see you using any kind of focus... and assuming you're not infected..." His prior suspicion is lit once again. How was she doing this? Was she... actually some kind of goddess?

And here he was laying on her thighs??? At his own accidental request???

The Sankta gulps.

[queenofkur]

The more Ezell explains, the fiercer the sting of embarrassment burns. Is he saying even a child knows more than her? And a total homebody even? Well, Ereshkigal herself may be about the worst homebody there is, but that’s beside the point. She puffs her cheeks and turns aside with a “hmph!” Yeah, that’ll show him!

“L-let’s get one thing straight,” she starts the moment Ezell’s voice fades into some kind of introspection that can only mean further contemplating Ereshkigal’s ignorance. It can’t stand! “It’s not my fault I don’t know these things. This is my first time visiting this world! And—uh—I’m a busy goddess, after all! I had too much on my plate tending to souls to read through that dossier my minion wrote. A-and it was badly written, anyway! It’s all that sheep’s fault, see?!”

There! Even as a sheep, Dumuzid can still make for a convincing enough scapegoat! And with Ereshkigal’s reputation now hopefully restored to its former glory, she clears her throat.

“Anyway, if angels—Sankta—are among the mortals in this world and procreate like other kinds…then who tends to the souls of the dead? Don’t you have a heaven? An underworld? Surely, someone has to watch over them?” She sighs with only a hint of annoyance.

“And here I thought I was helping a colleague of sorts by keeping their underling alive…Ah.—How are you feeling, anyway?” Not waiting for his response, she brushes his hair aside, and gently places a hand on his forehead. “Hm, doesn’t seem like you’re burning up…”

A light breeze stirs her own hair then, and Ereshkigal looks up, momentarily distracted. This place may look like a wasteland and lack appealing scenery, but… “At least there’s wind and the sun…—Um.” Her focus returned, she swiftly retreats her hand. This is Ezell’s fault, clearly! Somehow.

[dcviated]

"Huh- Is that not how your blessings worked?! I imagined that was the only reason you--" Put his head in her lap before, right?! Was it truly out of her own personal whim with no real necessity? That's... was it strange? For all of the eccentricities of Sankta culture there wasn't any of that happening. Oh, his nonno was surely smiling now with the situation the Executor found himself in. "Uh-"

And yet, before anything could be done to course correct- Ereshkigal has already laid out her cape and taken proper position. Thighs are presented. It's too late. Were he to say something now it'd be akin to dismissing the effort she had already taken. Crud.

"No! Of course not, I won't tell anyone. Not sure they'd believe me anyway. But I won't! The last thing I want to do is take your aid for granted, Miss Ereshkigal!" Then again, this is becoming a recurring thing, isn't it? Whether it was fighting back to back with Executor Federico (yes! the Saint!) or standing up to the Astray...

Fortunately he was not asked to forget this had happened. So after a moment of adjustment, minding his halo, Ezell lays his head perhaps too comfortably on her thighs. Where now does he look? Up? ..er- Away? No, he's supposed to be resting. So that's what he'll do. Try to do. But much rested on his mind, not least of all Ereshkigal.

"Diseases. Blessings. Now, spirits...? I've never heard of someone having so many kinds of arts before. Amazing. And you're doing all this to help me..." It was another fairy tale made real, something above him now before him (under him? technically?). For now he isn't exactly capable of debating it. Worst case scenario nothing happens, now.

"I'm fairly sure I was taken from... that direction." A hand is gestured, eyes turning back to briefly meet Ereshkigal's before thinking better of it for his own manners. "I was with a girl, a Sankta like me. She's young, short with pale brown hair. There was also a blonde Phidia. She carries a staff and had some... strange ornaments in her hair. There should be some Sarkaz as well." Ezell pauses. "I need to know Cecelia is okay. And for her to know I'm okay too."

Really, he needs to rest.

[queenofkur]

“J-just hurry up already!—Hmph!” Too much time passes between Ereshkigal assuming the required pose and Ezell actually executing the “plan”, and it fuels both annoyance and embarrassment in equal measure. Fortunately, as the angel rambles along, confusion swiftly overshadows the other emotions. First things first, though.

“Um…I’ll see what I can do. The Gallû are spirits, you know.” How does Ezell expect them to deliver a message to that Cecelia girl? Is that something the angels of this world can command spirits to do, in a way that won’t leave the recipients of such ghost-mail terrified to death? Sure, Ereshkigal may task the Gallû Spirits with various things, but their main mission remains something more grim, after all.

Still, she lifts a hand and summons one of her cages, shaking it slightly as if to lure some adorable pets out of hiding. What answers, however, are only the Gallû Spirits, for now assuming the shape of blue-ish orbs of light that drift around Ereshkigal, and the temperature drops. She sends them on their way with a mere hand wave. Well, that’s that. Now for the blessing.

The cage dissolves into dark blue smoke as she dismisses it, soon replaced with otherworldly crimson clouds as Ereshkigal lifts her hand again. The dark red fog pools around here, briefly covering Ezell as well before it dissipates. Now that he has seen it directly, will the magic of the underworld frighten him?

Frankly, he should fear it. But at least for now, the blessing will strengthen his body.

“Alright, I’ve done my part—now I have some questions. What’s this about angel grandfathers and young girls? Aren’t angels supposed to be all…” She gestures vaguely, not that it helps. “Er, created as is? And weren’t the Sarkaz your enemies? What’s a Phidia? And what’s this about Arts? I’m a goddess, you know! Naturally, I have many Authorities at my command. A-and don’t think for a second I’m only helping you for your sake!” It’s very important to emphasis this last part, of course.

[touchyoudown]

         Another day, another dollar. As Travis picked out the gig he was going to complete, he thought nothing of it. It was going to be like all the others; go in, murder a bunch of baddies, and get out. Simple. Easy. Cha-ching.

         As he pulled up to the hideout and turned off his motorcycle's engine, he was at once met with the sheer silence of the place, which was odd, looking beck at it now because there should've been baddies coming out to greet him with all the noise he had made pulling up to their entrance.

         Travis opened the door and at once his brain failed to compute the scene in front of him. This was something right out of an anime. Were those sheep everywhere ? Sheep covering the goons ? Where did they all even come from ? Before Travis could complete that thought, said sheep, were literally being shot at him.   ❛ What the fu- ❜ The extreme force knocked him off his ass and he hit he floor, hard. ❛ OOF. ❜ The air was knocked out of his lungs and just as he was about to regain his breath, the weight of even more plush creatures landed on top of his chest, and then had him completely covered.

         Was this how he was going to die ? What a pathetic end. He would rather have died to a low level enemy, than be buried alive like this. This was seriously not cool. What even was this though ? A booby trap ? Well, it certainly was effective, he'd give it that, but wait a minute.... weren't booby traps only supposed to be for intruders ? Then why did he hear various moans and groans coming from the entire floor ? Something wasn't right here.

         ❛ H-Hey. Is anyone else out there ? I'm not with them. I'm here to kill them, in fact. Let me out ! ❜ It was getting hard to breathe.....

[queenofkur]

Distracted as Ereshkigal was in talking to her viewership, she almost missed the voice emerging from beneath the latest stack of sheep. But there was a single word in those miserable pleas a goddess of death would never miss. Her spear appeared in Ereshkigal’s hand, and she stepped closer to the pile, using the weapon’s tip to kick a plush sheep off the guy’s face. Dumuzid appeared at once, hovering above the still-buried man besides Ereshkigal and pointing the camera to his face.

“Huh. Did you say you’re here to kill these criminals?”

“Gang war,” the low-pitched voice of the big golden sheep helpfully supplied.

“Hmm!—Sounds like useless human quarrelling. What should I do? If I let everyone run free and fight each other, I could get a lot of new souls… But I don’t want my channel to get banned.”

It was a serious dilemma. Fortunately, with the chat by her side, there was no shortage of suggestions coming in, from giving everyone embarrassing haircuts to enforced dance-offs to a battle royale, whose lucky winner would even get to fight Ereshkigal herself. The goddess dropped to her haunches and held out her phone so sunglasses-man on the ground could see the chat messages for himself.

“How about this? You must be an extra foolish human to come here all alone, when there are so many gang members around. So, I’m sure you must have a suggestion, too. If it’s a good one, I’ll add it to the poll and everyone’ll get to vote on what to do. That sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

At least in the goddess’ mind, it certainly did.

[screenshotsofdespair]

[dcviated]

Landscape... photography...?!

Ezell mouths the words when Ereshkigal speaks them, but they don't reconcile with the logic and realities of a war-torn and unrested country like Kazdel. Photography here? Ezell furrows his brow, now isn't the time to fuss that. Whatever intentions she had, they at least weren't hunting down Sankta. But that wasn't the case for everyone. Cecelia...

"But she's a little girl, can I really just..." The weight of the matter is balanced against the weight of Ereshkigal's words. Enough sense is placed in them to tip the scales, and Ezell, away from another brazen charge back into that wasteland valley. It would be acting without thinking. Thinking logically about this was difficult pitted against the blend of panic and poison. "What do I do..."

First, the injured Sankta takes a breath. With some effort he slowly settles back against the stone to the ground. Shit. He's feeling the fatigue creep like water through the cracks in stone. Nothing felt broken, in his case, at least. Bruised? Oh...

Clearly in his state, he would expire- whether by thirst, hunger, or the poison were it not properly ridden- it didn't matter. And what good is he to Cecelia's safety if he's dead? Surely a price of minutes or an hour is worth surety that he could still find his way back, and meet back at their rendezvous in the market where they'd split ways with Mudrock. Faith in Aria? He had only just met her. But he trusted those from Rhodes Island.

Now he had to put faith in Ereshkigal too. This is all leaving out the question of... her claiming to be a goddess? Authority over disease? What manner of arts allowed such a feat? And was she really a photographer?

"Were it not for you, I expect I may be dead or very close to it already, Ereshkigal. I'm.. sorry for reacting as I did when I woke up. This country doesn't take well to my kind... so I've been on edge these past weeks. Maybe resting is what I need for more reasons than one. Would you... be willing to help with that again? As you did before." A flash of memory of the lap he had been using on waking streaks his cheeks with a faint blush. "I'll take the offer if so, it's my best option. I'm no god, but oh a whim... I'll trust you too."

"My grandfather would be laughing if he knew I was asking to lay in a woman's lap. Perhaps in heaven he's laughing about it now." Ezell mutters audibly to himself.

[queenofkur]

Ereshkigal nods along to the reasoning he offers, feeling increasingly (unwarrantedly) proud of herself. There are plenty of pieces of information here that deserve clearing up, but for the moment, the goddess happily dwells on the fact that an angel of all people is willing to accept her aid. It’s a big accomplishment! Alas, her self-congratulations come to an abrupt end.

“Wha—?” she asks once, still happily smiling until the true weight of Ezell’s words fully sets in. “WHAT?” Though all dignity as a goddess seems to vanish momentarily, Ereshkigal’s voice achieves a truly impressive change in pitch. She must’ve misheard that, right? RIGHT?

“A-are you seriously asking a goddess for…that? I-I only meant to give you a blessing—You—you weren’t even conscious before, it was different!!!”

It was! But. But if that’s what he thought her offer meant, then going back on her word now would be a huge deal-breaker too, wouldn’t it? Ereshkigal sways back and forth on her feet, a hand pressed to her forehead as if the gesture would bring order to her thoughts. It doesn’t. After a moment though, she stills, turning left to observe the empty landscape, turning right to find more of the same. Deep breath! She can do this! Her honour as a goddess is on the line after all. The same is true for Ereshkigal’s dignity, however.

“Fine!” she finally declares and drops to her haunches. Ereshkigal then removes her red cloak, spreading it over the dusty soil like some overpriced picnic blanket, taking a seat in the most graceful manner she can muster under the current circumstances, and vaguely motioning for Ezell to approach.

“I said I’d help you, so I will. But!” It’s a big “but”, accompanied by a glower that might look impressive if not for her human vessel. “If you’re telling anyone about this, I’ll have my gallû spirits hunt you down and put your soul into one of my cages, angel or not!—Ah!” A sudden idea tears through Ereshkigal’s threats. “You said you’re looking for your friends, right? I can have my gallû spirits scout the area to find them!”

[dcviated]

"Right, sorry, but I- Currently I'm not sure what to take you for, miss ... Ereshkigal." Even the name sounded strange. "How does someone in Kazdel not know what a Sarkaz is? I'll believe you're not a witch or one of them, but there's a reason I'm so apprehensive. Maybe you don't... understand that either."

Visually, it's difficult for Ezell to make a lot of sense from what was transpiring. Clearer now it may be, he wonders how much of the situation can still be attributed to the lingering addling by the poison of the arrow. So many things to mediate here in his head alone-

He'd survived the encounter with the truck. Ended up far from where he'd started. Still had his gun. But. Cecelia wasn't here. And-- no, spinning his head to look back into the distance from which he must have come was not an ideal maneuver. The nausea and disorientation necessitates that he brace himself on his long gun after a near stumble, using it as a makeshift cane to keep himself on his feet.

"Wuh.."

Maybe he should have rested longer... Wait! That was far from the reasonable notion to have right now. Ezell's eyes were wandering enough reflecting on where he just was. Besides. This Ereshkigal looks displeased after helping him. But also. Expectant... for payment, perhaps? There was all the matter that she called herself an underworld goddess? Was she deluded? Was he?

"...haa- It's been a long day, and I haven't had nearly enough coffee to deal with all of it at once. My name is Ezell. I was just in a fight and right now... I need to figure out how to get back to my friends." For now, hopefully, he could leave Cecelia's well being to Operator Indigo from Rhodes Island. But those mercenaries... damnit. "Can you tell me what it is you're doing out here? You still haven't answered why you helped me, grateful as I am that you did. If you were hoping for some kind of payment I'm afraid I don't have much I can offer to a stranger."

[queenofkur]

“Hey…”

The angel sways, almost stumbling, and Ereshkigal instinctively takes a step forward, already reaching out to steady him—but she catches herself, just as he regains his footing. This is…awkward. He’s clearly still unwell. But would he want her help? Probably not, given how he leaped away from her as if compelled. Any more of such drastic actions would clearly be too much for him right now, so Ereshkigal slowly steps back again, giving him space and a chance to talk.

“Ezell then…alright.” Unfortunately, things are far from that, and trying to explain herself surely won’t make him less wary of her. He’s been through a battle, got hurt and separated from his friends—how can Ereshkigal possibly tell him she’s here to make a ServantTube video?! She can’t. Absolutely not!

“L-let’s just say I was in the area for some….landscape photography.” Really? In this wasteland? Maybe Ezell won’t notice how holey that claim is if she just keeps talking. “And I’ve helped you because….of a goddess’s whim. T-that’s right! Gods have whims all the time! It’s not unusual at all!” That’s actually…probably not very reassuring either. Gods often have whims to kill a bunch of mortals too, after all.

“A-anyway! Listen to me, Ezell. You’re clearly not well! You can barely even stand, so you’d probably drop into some ditch long before you’d find your friends. What you should do is rest some more and wait for whatever hit you before to wear off. I only have authority over diseases, so I can’t exactly cure you…But I could give you another blessing to make it easier for you to recover. If…you want it, that is.”

Which he probably doesn’t. Heaven and underworld don’t mix, after all.

[dcviated]

The events that preceded Ezell Pastore's current predicament are torn and splayed around in his mind from infected haze. A laced bolt fired from a Sarkaz crossbow. A struggle onboard a moving vehicle. From there everything only became cloudier. He fought to disable the vehicle but failed. Inability to have an impact on the world around him used to be par. Accepted. A quiet life with sunsets of spectacle. Now, that was less palatable.

Were he to face Andoain again, as unlikely as that event would be, Ezell would like to have more to say. To be able to formulate a clear response to their questions without fear or concern of being swayed by their own ideals.. Maybe even impress that heretic instead of simple placation.

I'd like to .... have a clear answer for what it is I want.

He fell off the truck. Yes. That's.... good, perhaps. He thinks in that fleeting moment after his senses and muscles failed him as numbness claimed his faculties. Maybe he should have jumped even sooner. Where was Cecelia? Where was--

Thoughts ceased to congregate after he impacted the ground in quite the dramatic tumble. Perhaps the poison was welcome, that he didn't feel the sharp spikes of impact from the rocks and terra firma before finally coming to rest behind rubble. The cover spares him any parting gift from the escaping Sarkaz convoy truck.

The next senses once consciousness and clarity begin to return are ... softer. Cooler. A strange respite touching his spirit in spite of the harsh sun that scrutinized the land of Kazdel. Just another pocket of experience to add to the foreigner, so far away from the temperate climates of Laterano.

This was nice... this sensation... a benevolent gift from his dream to break the feverish fervor, perhaps? To be so fortunate.

"Ghhhh!" An unseemly rasp as air curls into his lungs. Eyes snapping open and blinking blearily in attempts to take in whatever had happened to him "Nngh, did I... no, well it seems I'm not dreaming or dead at least. Otherwise I'd..." Vision recovers as he rolls his head- the visage of a strange woman looking down on him comes into picture. Was it Aria? No. Then. Who the heck is this?! And where did that put him? "Ah!"

Pardon the hasty extrication, but as soon as Ezell realized he was laying in a stranger's lap he had to digest multiple emotions and rationalities. It's nevertheless awkward, and the hasty physical exertion brings reminders of all his injuries and the lingering itching sting of whatever poison had shrouded him.

"Gh-- You- Are you a Sarkaz witch?" The first thing to take in with this woman, after all, aside from the fact he'd woken up laying on her thighs was that she was strangely garbed. A macabre decoration accessorizes her form and yet- the first thing he notices missing brings assumptions into doubt. "Yet you have... no horns... ugh, my head is pounding. Did you... did you save me? Why?"

Sarkaz or no, surely a Sankta in this land isn't something pitiable.

[queenofkur]

While Ereshkigal hadn’t expected the angel to jump in joy at her sight, she certainly hadn’t expected him to leap away in terror either. Perhaps a deity of the underworld is a natural repellent to someone like him after all. She swallows a flicker of irritation. Sighing, she rises to her feet and pats some dust and dirt off her legs.

“Greetings,” Ereshkigal says in what she hopes is a fairly neutral, elegant tone to put the angel at ease. Though… it sounds kind of awkward, doesn’t it? She clears her throat and straightens her posture. “My name is Ereshkigal, and I am neither a witch, nor a Sarkaz—whatever that is.”

Well, certainly. Even the ancient Greek witches already called upon her name in some rituals, not to mention what later generations of foolish humans got up to. But that’s hardly Ereshkigal’s fault! These imposters didn’t even properly call upon her! They were just looking for an occult sounding name to empower their Magecraft. He can’t blame that on the poor goddess whose name got abused for such purposes! Let alone—

Yeah, nevermind. Whatever graceful bearing she’s projected, it melts like a scoop of ice cream dropped onto a sandy beach.

“More importantly, what do you mean, horns?! Who exactly do you take me for—the devil? Just because I’m an underworld goddess, I have to look like that guy, is that it? Not to mention, here I went out of my way to keep you alive, and this is the thanks I get? Tch, I thought angels were supposed to be better than humans!”

She crosses her arms in front of her chest to finish the picture of discontentment. Come to think of it though, if it weren’t for the halo and wings, that guy looks nothing like angels depicted in churches. Who knew they had their own fashions, too? But, that hardly matters right now.

[queenofkur]

The setting is what one might call the modern variation of a desert bandit gang’s hideout—only there is no desert, this band of local criminals possesses far more dangerous weaponry than any Mesopotamian robbers could’ve ever got their hands on, and the hideaways of old certainly didn’t display such eclectic tastes in decorations. Compared to the luxurious swords and other weaponry some of the more successful ancient robbers might’ve hung upon their walls though, these contemporary graffitis and posters with questionable imagery are downright pathetic.

Of course, that an uninvited visitor broke into their hideout doesn’t exactly boost this gang’s street credits either.

“Ereshkigal’s bond channel!” a cheerful voice announces to a camera, carefully positioned to capture what remains of the gangsters in the background. “Today I travelled to a parallel world and buried a bunch of seeeriously dangerous criminals in mini-Dumuzids!”

Ereshkigal takes a step aside and presents her work with a smug grin. Where well-armed gangsters should be, only depressed-looking F-tier villains remain, covered to the neck under endless piles of plush sheep, unable to move and either too knocked out or scared to speak up.

“Look, chat, aren’t they sooo much cuter now? Maybe there’s hope for them yet! Send some super-chats to cheer them on! And—hold on. There’s another one?”

The camera (handled by a much bigger and much more lively sheep) swings towards the newcomer just arriving at the scene. His sunglasses, weapon, and entire getup don’t look like the rest of the gang’s at all, though.

“Aha! This must be their boss!” This guy is gonna get Ereshkigal so many more views! For sure! “Dumuzid! Bury him!”

The sheep doesn’t display much enthusiasm, but it diligently switches to handling a large canon instead. Boom! Hundreds of plush sheep shoot towards Mr Bossguy.

@touchyoudown

[neometalpussy]

my number one skill is being sooo cute and my number two skill is the ancient curse

[queenofkur]

“Chat are you seeing this?—Chat?”

That’s weird. Whether nice comments or awful ones, her viewers usually have something to say about Ereshkigal’s latest exploits. How come there’s only silence greeting her now? And today of all times. There’s an entirely new world out there, waiting for her to travel and fulfil Chaldea’s mission explore! That should earn her plenty of super chats! And yet—nothing.

“What’s going on?” she wonders aloud, pulling her equipment closer. “N-no connection?! That can’t be! They told me it would work!” Somehow, even wildly shaking her phone doesn’t improve the situation. “Ugh, that useless Dumuzid…Whatever! I’ll just check this out and upload the video later.”

Honestly though, Earth may be a bleached nightmare right now, but this Terran wasteland doesn’t look like much to write home about either. Except for the explosions, of course, and the car speeding by minutes before, spilling its contents all over the place.

“Alright, chat, I’m approaching the scene of the incident now. Just look at this mess!” She turns the camera around to record the area, cracked open crates, shattered glass pieces, syringes, pills and other suspicious objects spilled over the rocky ground. Suddenly, blinding white light covers the screen. “C’mon, what now?!”

Ereshkigal lowers the camera. There’s something glowing just behind that boulder over there—a halo?!

She hurries closer, her phone returned to the darkness of some pocket. This isn’t possible, it can’t—she briefly wipes her eyes just in case, but it changes nothing. There, motionless on the floor, lies a real life angel.

“Hey…A-are you okay?” Obviously not. She drops to the ground, reaching for a wrist to check for signs of life. There’s a pulse, but it’s weak. And whatever happened to this angel-guy, it turned his complexion a little green. “Ugh, this is bad. What should I do?”

Should she even do anything? A goddess of the underworld hardly has reason to help someone from ‘the other side’, right? But angels kind of watch over humans and their souls too, don’t they? Does that make him her coworker—or her rival? Ereshkigal sighs and lifts the angel’s head upon her lap. Even if he’s a potential enemy, for the sake of the lost souls he might yet aid, she’ll have to help him first. The question is how. This goddess of death isn’t exactly brimming with healing powers.

“Sorry…I can only give you a blessing and strengthen your body for a little while. You’ll have to pull through the worst of it on your own.” If he makes it at all.

@dcviated

[queenofkur]

Is there a particular subject of study that Ereshkigal excels at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

Ereshkigal is the type who studies a lot, though usually for practical reasons rather than an innate enjoyment of intellectual pursuits. And although she tries really hard, her chosen subjects are either doomed from the start, or Ereshkigal somehow ends up failing to implement the knowledge gained in her studies.

An example for the first category are her many attempts to bring life to the underworld. She spent hundreds of years researching plants that may grow underground, without sunlight, in a partially almost freezing cold climate—all to no avail, as no matter what, nothing would grow in Kur. It is a place for the dead, after all.

An example for the second category are Ereshkigal’s chocolate making attempts. After a month of intense research and many test batches, she only succeeded in making edible chocolate once… and even that just barely.

Whatever she ends up studying, it reflects her diligent nature rather than an intellectual one. If Ereshkigal finds a new topic, one she feels she should know about, she will go to great lengths to learn about it right away. Even if the topic is dumb. Even if it ends in failure. Someone please give her some normal books to read.

Anyway, to answer the question of subjects of study she excels at: there are none. :’)

[screenshotsofdespair]