Its hollow eyes narrowed on Lillandyr. She had spoken the truth... frustratingly so. Yet her very presence was a temptation, her mind a feast-in-waiting, promising enough sustenance to dull the gnawing hunger for a time.
The shadows writhed about her like a lover’s veil, while the void around them shifted restlessly in its endless black.
Then... the rat.
The Entity felt the tug and, almost reflexively, the last memory it shared with that vermin surfaced. The darkness split, and the scene reshaped into a Kul Tiran brothel drowned in carnage. Bodies littered the floor, sockets empty where eyes had been torn free. Blood cascaded over the bar and dripped down stools in a red waterfall. A glorious mess. Just the way it liked it.
But irritation soured the pleasure. A shadow snapped upward, coiling around the Rat’s throat with a warning squeeze.
“I have told you before, rodent,” it hissed, voice cutting the air like rusted steel. “Do not think this…" he gestured between them, "oddity grants you license to push and pull at me at your leisure.” A pause, deliberate, as though even it struggled to define the strange tether between them.
Then its gaze slid back to Lillandyr, sharp as broken glass as it unfurled its shadows from the Rat's throat.
“I drank your vanity the moment you drifted into my grasp. Do not think me blind to it. And yes... always I will make you the subject of my scorn. That is the mortal’s burden: to misunderstand and slander what is beyond them.”
It lifted a finger, gesturing lazily at the ruin around them.
“But… I will hear your words. If only because... ” its eyes flicked toward Frank, a rumble of disgust rising from its chest, “...that one will never cease his squealing if I silence you.”
@lillandyrshadowglade
@voidplaguedrat
The 'employer' of Yuli Valor. Keeps him in a contract that makes Yuli functionally immortal. Their reasons for boarding on the Amaranth are unknown.
Nothing else is known about this mysterious guy, other than their name-giving bonejaw.
Curious on their story? Read it on @theriversitters !
When his fingers held her jaw, smeared her lipstick, it should not have felt like anything. Lillandyr proper was not in the church with him, but dreaming another life warm in her bed in Castle Dracone.
But it felt like velvet soft skin. He could feel the waxiness of her lipstick under the pad of his thumb. The projection, with its splinter and shards embedded deep in his essence meant her influence over the Shell tickled gray matter, skipped down nerve endings, and released pleasure chemicals so that the illusion of touching her face was almost real. If her visage hadn’t flickered at the last moment…her eyes wide…
Maybe it had been something he’d said.
The Entity had a brief reprieve from her sharp, mocking tongue. There was no breathy laughter following his strange, affectionate display. She’d been silenced by the off-putting, decidedly erotic nature of smearing her lipstick. The illusion of her was solid again. He could smell her perfume, see the mimicry of a pulse flutter at the slender column of her throat. The Entity could see wispy, baby hairs along her hairline, golden and catching the scant light in the church. Her face had pores and he could see each, individual lash in the sooty fringe that partially eclipsed the poisonous green glow of her eyes.
He had done this too. It was his power of illusion and manifestation as well as hers, working together to provide a more solid facsimile. He had wanted, whatever his motivation might be, to touch her. So she had an illusion of flesh so solid, she probably could have been cut open, her shining organs spilled from her ivory flesh.
She was the picture of debauched beauty, her golden hair like scorched honey, wild waves and curls framing a face with pinked cheeks. Dressed in red silks, festooned with gold and gems and that naughty smear of lipstick on her cheek, she looked tumbled over the edge of passion. Fury burned in her gaze that could have been mistaken for lust.
And there was always, the ever present, greedy hunger that moved all of her. Every expression wildly curious, every movement predatory.
Suddenly, her slender arms coiled around his neck and the look of absolute rage melted off her face and instead curled her lips into an indulgent, lazy smile. “Hmm,” she demurred, “is this your honey? Am I the fly?”
Except her arms didn’t feel like soft, female flesh, they moved too much, were too long. It felt like cool scales writhing over the skin of his neck.
Her own shadow slithered out from her form, like thin wisps of smoke, to pluck the little illusions of stars to set upon her head like a crown, as though if she could, she would adorn herself with all the cosmos, heedless of things ruined and destroyed so long as it all served her glory.
Lillandyr stared intensely into the darkness of his eyes, her grin belonging on some dangerous, feral creature, not a pretty thing with a heart shaped face. It was a loathsome expression filled with sadistic delight. As if she knew something suddenly. Like a bolt of inspiration struck her. She shuddered and he felt the weight of her arms again, not just the impression of them, shifting, coiling wholly around his neck. The Entity could feel the flicker of a serpent’s tongue tickle against his ear, his jaw, felt the coils of the snake wind around his legs, writhing up, teasing not pleasure, but violence.
”I fear no abyss,” she hissed, “because…because it’s nothing!” She laughed then, brief and soft. “It is you that is afraid…it’s why you buck and faunch against the surly impulses of flesh.”
She leaned in, to bite or kiss, but stopped short of either, teeth bared. Instead, she inhaled sharp and deep, eyes narrowing even as her grin broadened. “I do wonder what you’re doing, darling,” she whispered, “you’re swimming in my waters now. I fear you’re out of your depth.” She paused with a huff. “You did this. You showed your want. You’d be bad at playing cards because…” she paused, her gaze askance, “I think…you’re bluffing.”
He felt an odd pressure around his left ankle, then his right bicep as her lithe fingers threaded into his hair. Bit by bit, she became less solid. It was like being held by smoke.
“I think,” she said, dragging barely substantial lips over his cheek to his ear, “you are the architect of our little interactions and imagine you’ll scapegoat me. You think to trick and seduce me. You play on my vanity and the weakness of my flesh. You tease the tongue of my ambition with your morsels. And all I can think is…why? Is it because you are tainted and spoiled with mortal longings? Or is it because you are all alone? There are NONE like you. None to understand. To see. To know. How wretched and lost and lonely and pointless it makes you.”
He felt her smile against his ear. “I am brief. A flicker. And I am never alone. I am a rare thing in the vast forever. That I end gives me meaning. You say you want. You say you belong…but you are unwanted and alone. Righteous men will come endlessly until you are dispatched and you will have done only a little wretched business.”
She vanished only to reappear sitting in his chair, her lipstick perfect, her hair smoothed. She wore her dress of black silk, one leg crossed over the other as she looked into a compact, checking her reflection in the tiny mirror for imperfections.
“What do I say?” Lillandyr pinned him with a glare, “I think you’ve finally made the right enticement. There is very particular knowledge I seek. And it is vital I have it. I’ll deal with what you find interesting then. What’s under all my masks. Perhaps I’m curious to know myself.” Her smile was surreptitious. “Dismantle me at your pleasure.”
She was gone. The serpent with her. It was as though she’d never been there at all. As if she was some…strange hallucination. Lillandyr remained silent in his head. Had she incorporated so much into his being that it was just him…snidely arguing with himself??
All possibilities until he felt a tap on the shoulder.
When the Entity turned, it was too late to duck or move out of the way of the slap that landed hard on his cheek. It made a loud ‘crack’ in the relative stillness. It was more noise than pain, though there was the needling tingle of energy forced against his skin.
“That’s for smearing my lipstick, you naughty creature,” she said, lip curled in a sneer. She promptly vanished again and gave him the silent treatment.
The two with the most votes will move to the next round
Padomay
Sheogorath
Sithis
Talos
The Godhead / The Amaranth
Vivec
Voting ended onDec 21, 2024
Part 1/2
Characters' info under the cut
Padomay (wiki1, wiki2)
Domains: Primordial God of Change, Chaos, and the Void
Propaganda:
He is a product of the Godhead's dream that clashes with his mirror opposite Anu to create the TES cosmos. He is the supreme force of the evil side of things.
Sheogorath (wiki1, wiki2)
Domains: Madness and creativity (among other cultural associations and derivatives)
Propaganda:
[Contains spoilers for The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion: Shivering Isles]
The Elder Scrolls handles its deities with varying degrees of success, but I'd argue that Sheogorath (specifically his Oblivion incarnation, the others are meh) is one of the best depictions of a god as a fictional character. He is a member of the Daedric pantheon (ie the ones that did not contribute to the making of the mortal world) but he differs from the other members in that he was 'created' out of the former god of order to prevent a hostile takeover. He is considered a trickster god in general, frequently outsmarting other gods, but plays a variety of roles to the different cultures in Tamriel, ranging from vision-giver, tester of psychological weakness, and bringer of art, music, and feeling. Even his own followers hold a variety of views on him.
But what really makes him stand out to me is his role in the Oblivion DLC Shivering Isles. The DLC takes place in his realm, which is under threat from a cyclical reappearance of the god of order, who destroys everything imperfect, that being the entire realm. Sheogorath asks the player to help by completing a variety of tasks to preserve his realm, its inhabitants, and their traditions. In doing so, the player learns to become like Sheogorath, and eventually becomes him to fight his previous incarnation when he turns into the god of order. It's a bit complicated and convoluted--TES players please don't get mad if I got anything wrong, it's been years since I've played--but essentially, the player comes out of the whole ordeal with Sheogorath's power and identity. Fandom has debated on what this means for a long time.
I played Shivering Isles while at a tumultuous time in my life, struggling with my own neurodivergence. While the game doesn't portray everything perfectly, it still speaks to an appreciation of 'mad' people, and the variety of interpretations of Sheogorath's role and goals just adds to that. Heck, when you begin Shivering Isles, if you ask how the people of Sheogorath's realm can be 'cured', you are immediately told that they are not diseased, they just 'live in another state of being' and 'perhaps you need a cure'. The themes of this story helped me accept who I was.
Also, look up some of this guy's dialogue, you will not regret it.
Sithis (wiki)
Domains: Emptyness, The Void, Misanthropy
Talos (wiki)
Domains: Skyrim, Mankind, War
The Godhead / The Amaranth (wiki)
Domains: Existence, the all-encompassing "I"
Propaganda:
The Elder Scrolls is in-universe a dream dreamed up by the Godhead/Amaranth, the Amaranth is also an all-transcending state of being that if one were to achieve in the dream would escape the dream and become another dreamer as well, like escaping the Godhead's skull
Vivec (wiki)
Domains: Poetry, Lies and Falsehoods, Duality, Truth, War, Mastery
“ But how can I explain to them that I don’t want to be a stargazer, but a galaxy; not a poet, but a poem ”
N A M E - Scarlett Deveraux
G E N D E R - Female
A F F I L I A T I O N - Cirque Noire
O C C U P A T I O N - Fire performer & Stage manager
S P E C I E S - Faerie/Phoenix
AGE - 28/127
F C - Phoebe Tonkin
“LIKE STEPPING INTO A FAIRYTALE UNDER A CURTAIN OF STARS.” -
tw abuse, violence, gaslighting, murder, death
Her past is something of a mystery, wrapped in the darkest parts of her mind that Scarlett seldom dares to visit. There isn't much she can be certain of and what she is certain serves to break her heart further. She was a Fae infant stolen away by Anais Deveraux who spent the first twenty-odd years of Scarlett's life posing as her mother. For all Scarlett knew Anais was the only family she had and as Anais wanted it, Scarlett believed Anais was the only one to love her. Anais spent years conditioning Scarlett to believe her best efforts were not good enough. Leading her to believe that she needed to work herself into exhaustion to be worthy of anything. Years of emotional and mental abuse cumulated with gaslighting and physical abuse plagued Scarlett's young life.
Anais assured her it was only tough love. Scarlett would have done anything for a single fleeting moment of her believed mothers love, even if it was hell to get there. Scarlett rarely challenged her mother, fearing retribution, convinced that her mother was working in her best interest by imprisoning many of the circus performers. It wasn't until years later that Scarlett realized Anais had trapped her in a prison of her own. It lacked bars and locks, but like the others stuck under Anais's tyranny, Scarlett was stuck.
The years continued on, and while Scarlett often begged her mother for kindness and compassion. It became clear that Anais was slipping further into her devious corruption in the name of eternal power. It wasn't long after this realization took hold that Scarlett decided something needed to be done. With the help of Kat and a local coven who had been following Anais's crimes for years, they were able to overpower her.
Scarlett knew her mother would never rest - enough would never seem to be enough. At that moment, Scarlett gave Anais two options, life or death. Life would come with bound powers to ensure she could no longer hurt another living innocent- Anais chose death. It was Scarlett who delivered the ending blow. In the end, it was Scarlett who was pulled to mourn and to rejoice freedom in all of its complexities.
Over time the Cirus was able to rebuild - it wasn't without help and healing, but soon the circus became everything Scarlett had hoped it could be. It was a haven for those like her. The ones looking for freedom, family, purpose, home- those who needed to belong flocked to Cirque Noire and Scarlett welcomed them all with love. Over the next several years, Scarlett began to realize that everything Anais told her had been a lie. She was no witch, but a Faerie, a Phoenix as it would turn out.
Because of her Fae blood, Scarlett was hunted by some, becoming a target and being drained of her blood. It should have been the end for Scarlett, but she was born again from the fire that burned from the inside out. Scarlett is unsure of the limit of her abilities, rarely meeting other Fae and never meeting another Phoenix like her. Scarlett has spent the last several decades reclaiming her life, trying to uncover whatever she can stomach, and leave what is too painful hidden away. Over the years, Scarlett has taken new names, identities to continue to live unnoticed. Scarlett has yet to be able to shake the surname her once mother, her captor, and abuser gave her. Deveraux feels like her curse, and yet she can not let go of the only mother she ever knew.
“TO BE, RATHER THAN TO SEEM.” -
Scarlett is soft. Soft like roses with thorns that draw blood and like water that can hold up ships or sink them with one wave. She has always been this girl who held the uncertainty if she was ever a child at all. Or merely a wide-eyed woman with her ideals and romanticism. Things that keep her curious keep her longing and make her impossible to forget. It would be a mistake to confuse her kindness for weakness As she will give you all she has, except her will and the anger that lives quietly behind her passion and love.
” I CANNOT STOP DREAMING ABOUT YOU.“ -
Your maybe -
The Benefactor -Your closest confidant, your best friend, and first love. He has always been so much to you and meant so much more than you could imagine. When you took your mothers life and ended her tyranny it was Malaurie who you fell into. It was effortless to lean on him, to want him and need him. However, in your life, you’ve realized there are so many uncertainties- death, family, even what you are. You weren’t sure you could risk the uncertainty of him - even if that meant giving up on the certain passion. You remain close, how could you not?
Your lover -
The Arcane, you fall into bed with him as easily as you do dance. The physical is effortless- but the knowing seems to be a struggle. You enjoy his company, you enjoy nearly everything about him. Maybe it’s selfish due to him being another Faerie. Maybe your desire to know who you are and more so what exactly you are has you holding onto a ghost of a man who can never be all yours.
Your reluctance-
The Epicure - a warm presence that fills you like late afternoon sunshine on a humid summer day. They are the parent you didn’t know you needed, and the one who push away at every turn. How do you allow yourself to love a paternal figure when you took the life of the only mother you’ve ever known? You don’t feel deserving, and you can’t seem to just let what feels natural happens. They’re younger than you and yet you feel as if they carry more wisdom than you could ever possibly fathom.
The Amaranth (Phoebe Tonkin) is written by (Rey - she/her - est )
Continued from this post from @lillandyrshadowglade
The Entity consumed all that was provided. Every bottle scanned. Every lap of soft waves touched, every scent of skin and salt absorbed. He drank it all in, assimilating it as if he were tasting her illusions to weigh their worth. Yet there was a barrier, a measure of defense. A sense of acknowledgement through staying his hunger. After all, the last time he tried to drink from her well, the water had been poisoned with trickery.
A flicker of irritation crossed his face as her hands cupped his skin—his eyes narrowing as though a peasant had touched a king without permission. Still, the phantom of that touch lingered, unwelcome but not entirely despised.
When the illusion faded and the song had been sung, the Entity rose to his feet. Sun-kissed hair fell elegantly across his features as he bore the visage of a nobleman rooted in prestige and luxury. Yet the cold void of his gaze remained ever present. His robe took on the color of the night sky as unnamed stars from unnamed cosmoses glittered across the finery like a thousand holes of light in the darkness.
The light wavered hypnotically as he approached her, stopping mere feet away.
“More like me?” he echoed, lips curling into a smile that wavered between warmth and cruelty. “There are none like me. I am the endless one... the vast abyss mortals hesitate to stare into.” His gaze flicked to her, unblinking. “Yet you do.”
The stars on his person flooded outward, covering the church in its entirety. The blackness swallowed them both, revealing endless space. It felt like a void, but in truth it was a path—one that offered each star as a destination.
He offered, or perhaps taunted her, with a taste of those hallowed places: a library with endless literature, artifacts that could manipulate time and thought, dark objects, wicked things—things that demanded a price once collected, pieces of a puzzle longed to be solved.
“Ambition. Desire. Want…” he echoed, softly, slowly. “All of it is but a language mortals made to define their belonging. I know where I belong. I know what I ‘w̵̧̩͕̩̺̠̙̼̓̐́̃̈́̈́͜͝ͅá̸͉̍̈́̊̋͂̿͠n̸̡̤̍̈̔̃̔̓͛̂ẗ̶̠̫̬́̊̿́͛̍̿̾͜’…”
The words paused in his mouth. A cruel, taunting smile flickered across his lips as, in the manner of a blink, he was suddenly before her.
A hand slipped upwards and danced across her cheek. His touch was as the void would be: cold but calculated. Yet beneath it was a strange, trained tenderness, as if he had rehearsed gentleness long before she drew breath. His fingers curled around her jaw and held her still for but a moment.
“You wear many masks, Lillandyr… Anya… Asmira… even as you claim you do not. But, rest assured, I am intrigued. Thus…” His thumb traced the corner of her lips, lingering then smearing the ruby-kissed lipstick across her cheek. “…I will offer you morsels, pieces of what you seek. And every time you take a bite, I will tear another layer from you. Then perhaps we will both see what we truly are as we snuff out each candle, each glimmer of light that would try to blind such... "delight"”
He lowered his hand, the vision fading back to the church. Shadows slithered back to their corners, but they left behind a trace of starlight at their feet, like a map only they could read.
“So what say you then?” His voice deepened but lost some of its cruelty, like a blade sheathed but still sharp. “Why blurt out our wants and needs, when your excitement can be titillated in a slow, steady drip of knowledge?”
The final word echoed, not as a threat but as a promise—something dangerous, yes, but also an invitation.
For Xen, force was only to be used when necessary to accomplish a goal. But when it was necessary you brought all the force you could against the problem. You showed no mercy for in the showing of mercy you showed your own weakness. You gave those who would oppose you the idea that resistance was possible. No in the end it was far kinder to crush any opposition quickly and decisively because the loss of life would only be greater if you had to come back again and again to put out fires. This was the mercy the Mythological Morrigan offered, and it was the same one his Morrigan offered. They would both choose the slain; choose who must die for the greater good of all.
