#azzagrazt

[bloodtwin]

🍓 What is something you and the mun disagree on?

SOURCE: MUSE TALKING ABOUT THE MUN.

❝ Besides the obvious . . . ？❞ You know, murder. Cannibalism. Necrophilia. Just to name a few minor disagreements the two of them have. Then again, Puck wouldn't say he & Adam DISAGREE on these matters. Puck finds them to be terribly abhorrent. Not Good. Very Bad. Obviously.

. . . He just also happens to participate in all three.

Puck rubs at the back of his neck. Tries to think. Really, besides the obvious, they actually have pretty similar opinions about things. Adam is, of course, also a man of fine taste. (See: Finds clowns very attractive.) Puck almost can't think of something.

But then there's a devious smirk on his face when he finally does.

❝ Well, I like Halsin, unlike SOMEONE ⸻ ❞ He is forcibly dragged off the stage with a comically large hook.

[never-surrender]

The fight hadn't been something that Aubrey actively participated in... in fact she had been the one to guide the innocents to safety while the others fought in the middle of a wine tasting festival. It was a damned shame, really, all that wine wasted because shapeshifters had a hit list out for others. A hit list Aubrey was determined to save...

But right about now that wasn't important. What was important were the ones that had been injured amongst all the chaos. Approaching one tiefling that had jumped into the fray, Aubrey's expression was exceedingly kind as she neared him.

"Here, let me tend to that," she urges, her hands held up with the faintest cast of a glow that signified she was about to use a healing spell on him.

@azzagrazt

[cauldronqveen]

❛ what hideous sin have you committed lately ? — from @azzagrazt

iggwilv smirks, painted lips curling upward. "nothing i do is hideous, pet." she reaches out and pats his face, condescending and amused.

she lets out a chuckle, "even my sins." there is an arrogance to the way she moves around him, a sureness to her step. the chains she has bound him with -- magical wards and bindings she has perfected to hold a demon of his immense power.

"though, perhaps you'd like to hear of my most recent foray with lust, specifically? general goldriver has recently captured my attentions quite fully." she raises her brows, challenging him. her dark eyes scan his face, seeking any flicker of emotion there.

[featherstcnes]

taking a deep breath, lorna tried to center herself. it was late, the sun starting to set in the sky. it had been a long day, but her work was never quite done. it had been weeks since she had done anything for her patron, and she'd gotten plenty of signs to know that her patron was most definitely unhappy. and so tonight, despite her resistance, she found herself on the streets of baldur's gate with a disguise on. instead of her ice white hair, she was seen with dark brown hair and her ears had a slightly less pointed edge. her eyes were no longer golden, but instead a deep brown. to a random person, she would look just like another citizen attempting to do some last minute walks around the market. it was how she needed to work. with her worrying constantly about the guild and also worrying about being seen while doing things for her patron, she couldn't allow her identity to be common knowledge.

with her cloak wrapped around her shoulders, she stood around a corner slightly, finding her target. a harmless shopkeeper, though he was holding an alliance with the guild. she didn't feel guilty doing this. but maybe she just was growing desensitized to all of it. her fingers moved slightly in a pattern, her voice quiet as she fired off a few scorching rays towards the target and what would be easy kindling to start a fire before disappearing into a small crowd that had grown.

" fire ! " lorna yelled in the crowd, feeling a few people start to scurry away at the sight of it. she dropped her disguise as the chaos grew, her familiar ice white hair falling near her shoulders. lorna looked around, attempting to feed into the chaos. " we need water to put this out, " she said, eyes on a few other shopkeepers. walking briskly towards the target who was attempting to gather some of his things away from the flame, she tried to lock in on him, ready to follow him away from the scene.

closed starter for @azzagrazt

[starlyht]

‘we’re playing a guessing game.’ for sszefryn.

SENTENCE MEME ⟶ DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS / Part 4

“well,   that's what makes it fun,”   said sszefryn,  as if scolding one who ought to know better.  “and,  besides,  what's life without a little risk,  hmm?”   still,  he wasn't as flippant as his words may have suggested.  life in the underdark,  with all of its infinite risks and dangers,  had crafted him into a man of cunning artifice.  still,  it was far easier to succeed when he played the innocent,  careless,  doe eyed fool.  the handsome tiefling seemed to be the right man to play it on.  business types like him seemed to be cut from the same cloth,  concerned above all things with profit,  though risk may not be ideal.  “you can't pretend you're not at least a bit interested.  a whole fortune,  hidden in waterdeep?”   besides.  fuck the xanathar guild.

[starlyht]

‘i’ll ask nothing more of you than you are willing to give.’ for kyran.

SENTENCE MEME ⟶ DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS / Part 4

“as it happens,”   the paladin said to the beautiful creature,  “i have a lot to give and a lot that i'm willing to give.”   as he was supposed to,  right?  one half of him held to the hope that if he suffered enough and gave enough of himself,  he would be forgiven of the wretched thing he'd become.  one half of him held to the despairing chance that it was the hope of the deluded and vain.  he discovered he had a knack for falling and getting himself back up.  perhaps he needed to open his enemies' veins and drink of their precious life to do that,  but do it he would,  tiredly and tirelessly,  until to death he finally succumbed.  the lower city of baldur's gate had fashioned him into quite a stubborn man,  for good or ill.

while not necessarily the eyes of an unwary innocent,   his blood red gaze was earnest and hopeful.  “whatever your will is,   i would do what i can to fulfill it.”

[warwaited]

Rakatak’s quarters are not the same as she left them, although there are no obvious signs of tampering or intrusion–beyond the greatsword currently leaning against the wall, which had not been there before.

An angular crossguard with jagged, crown-like spikes ends in a pommel bearing a dark emerald, and the hilt is wrapped in supple black leather threaded with platinum filigree. Once unsheathed, the blade–blackened steel, polished to mirror-like perfection–ripples strangely under any light it catches. 

+2 Greatsword – attunement required. Subjugator’s Edge: Once per day, the wielder can unleash a wave of psychic energy from the blade in a 30-foot cone. Creatures caught in the wave must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or be Charmed by the wielder for 1 minute.

Attached to the pommel by a velvet ribbon is a simple black card that simply reads: ‘For my favorite tyrant. –G.’

The paladin(?) spots it immediately, and the implication is even more clear than the note. Despite herself, she crosses the floor to wrap her hand around its hilt, slowly rotating the blade (while making sure not to accidentally cleave through the ceiling of her own tent) to get a better look at it. Of course it would be now, with her faith in both her god and her people shaken.

Part of her wants to refuse it on principle, just for the gall of thinking she could be bought. That she would waver if plied with jewels and offerings from a source concerned only with its own importance.

But when she catches sight of her eyes, reflected murkily in the blade, she can't find it in herself to cast it down.

[fiendishfinesse]

There is a new mirror in the House of Hope.  Its source is likely unmistakable–grand and ornate but not quite crossing the line into ostentatious, the shimmering black glass surface and carved Abyssal runes make no effort to hide the gift’s origins. And it is a gift. When Raphael gazes upon his reflection, he’ll see not himself as he is but as he most desires to be seen: more powerful, more respected, resplendent in a crown of ash and precious metals. An archfiend standing even above Mephistopheles. 

Tucked neatly into the carved frame is a black card. Upon it, in flourishing silvery script, reads: ‘May you never lose sight of your ambitions. Don’t be a stranger. -G.’

Raphael stands before the mirror, hellfire eyes narrowing as they take in the reflection—not as he is, but as he might become, his ambitions made manifest in every flawless detail. A smile curves his lips, the vision before him feeding the embers of a fire he nurtures deep within. He plucks the card from the frame, his lip curling slightly—half smirk, half snarl—as he reads the elegantly scrawled words.

“Graz’zt.” He spits the name with venom. “Ever the insufferable one. And yet…” His eyes flick back to the vision in the glass, lingering a moment too long before he tucks the card into his coat with an air of casual nonchalance that doesn’t quite hide the tension in his shoulders. “How terribly on the nose. I suppose I should thank you for sparing me the indignity of a fruit basket.”

A gift so intimate it almost feels like flattery; or perhaps mockery?