Deathsinger

What makes you the most emotional about your muse?

What made you decide to write this muse?

If you could change one event in your muse’s life (in their main or canon verse), what would you change?

If you could tell your muse one thing, what would you tell them?

If you could give your muse one gift, what would you give them?

If you had to take one positive thing away from your muse, what would you take away?

If you could “borrow” one aspect of your muse and apply it to yourself or your own life, what would you borrow?

Do you genuinely want your muse to be happy? What do you think would make them most happy in life?

Do you enjoy putting your muse through angst? What do you think would break their heart the most?

What do you love about your muse?

What do you hate about your muse?

What about your muse amuses you?

What about your muse makes you sad?

How would you describe your muse to someone about to meet them, in person, for the first time?

Would you like your muse as a person if you met them in real life?

In what ways are you better than your muse? In what ways are they better than you?

Why do you think you connect to your muse?

What aspect of your muse’s personality is most important to you? What aspect of your muse’s personality do you think is most important to them? Is it the same? Why or why not?

If you had to judge your muse and sentence them to a “fair” fate, what would your judgement be? Would you punish them? Reward them? How?

To be killed and put to rest, would be to deny these ghosts their new lives, and Karthus would not squander that. So he shepherds Xerath, like any other lost soul, hoping to keep him calm and rid him from the Isles.

When Xerath's anger flares, Karthus can tell whatever memory sprung forth was a bad one. Yet he hears the giggling of children in the air... and then, the screaming. Karthus doesn't bother looking for the image of the children. He just turns in place, staring at Xerath.

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Two thousand eyes.

A thousand mouths.

A murderer? Karthus thought. A war general? One in the same, he supposed.

"..." Karthus blinked a few times, finally focusing on what Vlad said. His eyes suddenly flickered with that strange blue light that emitted from Karthus's eye sockets. "I will not let it happen." Karthus hissed suddenly, so passionately on behalf of the Isles. "For too long have the living sought to seek the fate of our beloved departed. I will not have the likes of them or Maokai or Yorick undo what so many spirits here have built upon this land. Forcing them to flee their home, forcing them to pass on, forcing their desires upon us."

"This way." Karthus gestured to the far distant town that stood in complete stillness. Floating pieces of stone and brick hung in the air. The distant shapes of people in the mist, some staring, some beckoning with a motion of their hand. The apparitions appear more numerous when Karthus heads in that direction, some reaching out to touch him -- but not much else.

"Stay close to me. Some of the people here have lost their minds... Just leave them be, please." He doesn't think he can negotiate with the stranger, but he would do his best to try.

The image of children laughing flash past Karthus, the image is faded and hard to see, but it seems there are two children, the transparent image of them showed only one discernable feature, one child, decorated with gold, and the other child, decorated in iron chains. They spoke a language that Karthus never heard before...

"... Is that your memory?" Karthus asked, gesturing to the two children. "That is not a ghost..." Karthus knew this imagery -- the work of the mist. That which called out to the people who came, what it considered still living, showing them images, memories, family, and so on.

Karthus stared at the two children. They faded a bit, running off, disappearing amongst the specters and ghouls. Karthus would furrow his brow, although he didn't have much of one.