#adorectrine

She let out a short bark of laughter, raising an eyebrow at the tiefling.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Zevlor,” she said, voice dripping with exaggerated gravity. “In fact, I’d defend your right to whine to the death. It’s practically an art form! But just know—” she leaned in, “if there’s a contest, you’ll lose. I’ve spent decades perfecting my craft. I could complain circles around you before you even draw breath.”

She punctuated her claim with a dramatic hand wave and an exaggerated sigh, as if the burden of carrying the title of Master Complainer was hers alone to bear.

The earthy scent of herbs filled the air around Jaheira, who knelt in the soft soil of the garden, gathering the last of the herbs she needed. Each plant had been grown under druidic magic, thriving in the special care she had provided. She smiled faintly, rubbing a sprig of rosemary between her fingers before tossing it into the small bowl beside her. This blend would do.

These herbs were more than just for healing or calming the mind — they were a bridge, a way to ground oneself and tap into the deeper magic of the earth. She’d used them herself countless times when she needed to realign her connection to the land. Now, it was Zevlor’s turn. The tiefling had shown a keen interest in druidic magic, and she figured this would be the perfect introduction.

Jaheira much preferred a soothing tea — something about the warmth and ritual always felt right. But in this sweltering heat? She shook her head, almost pitying anyone foolish enough to drink hot tea on a night like this. A pipe would have to do the trick instead. It wasn’t her usual way, but it was effective enough.

Jaheira leaned back, surveying her work, the rich greens and purples of the herbs in the bowl. She chuckled to herself. She could almost picture the look on Zevlor’s face — skeptical, but eager. The old soldier probably was no stranger to focus and discipline, but this... well... this was a different kind of ritual.

Jaheira wiped her brow, smearing a bit of dirt across her forehead as she stood and carried the bowl of freshly picked herbs inside. The summer air clung to her skin, and though the breeze in the garden was pleasant, the heat in the kitchen wasn’t. She wrinkled her nose as she spread the herbs on a tray, sliding it into the oven to dry.

"One thing about these summer nights..." she muttered, fanning her face with her hand. "They don’t mix well with digging in the garden."

She glanced down at herself — dirt-smudged, sweat making her clothes cling in places she'd rather it didn’t.

With the herbs drying, she had just enough time for a quick rinse, and after washing all the dirt away she slipped into fresh, comfortable clothes — a loose, sleevless tunic and some short trousers. nothing fancy, just breathable enough to bear the sticky summer air. The fabric hung loosely on her, and she left her feet bare, enjoying the cool touch of the floor under her toes.

"Much better," she muttered, tying her hair back loosely.

To avoid the heat of the still-cooling-oven, she sat at the veranda to crush the herbs gently, before packing them into a small pipe. The garden was peaceful, the children were camping with Minsc, Rion was reintegrated into the Flaming Fist (a courtesy from Duke Wyll Ravengard) and the sea breeze was a welcome respite from the day's heat. A perfect setting to help Zevlor bond with the land.

"Let’s see how he handles this," she muttered with a grin, examining the now filled pipe.

He feels like he shouldn't be surprised by this little... turn of events. Honestly, he's surprised this one even survived as long as he had. He hadn't even healed him for Rook, wanting to let him do as he pleased.

Yet now... his request brings a certain nostalgic feeling he can't quite place. Like this request was oh so very familiar to him.

"Keep your scroll. I can take care of it." He crouches down, grabbing the corpse by both arms and dragging him over to Rook, to where he'd promptly be dropped.

Then, he'd whisper infernal incantations, a distinctive red glow humming around the corpse before the man gasps loudly.

"Ah, there we are. Welcome back, sleeping beauty." He'd hum, before glancing over at Rook to see if he approved.

Mizora could feel it — her power slipping, weakening, as if the very fabric of her being was unraveling bit by bit. She was trapped here, bound to a world that stifled her, a realm where her infernal influence barely reached. But the worst of it — the real nightmare — was the damn tadpole, that insidious thing wriggling in her skull. Its presence gnawed at her sanity, a constant, suffocating reminder of her predicament. No amount of careful calculation or cold composure could mask the creeping dread that it was only a matter of time — or the illithid inside the prism's will — before it consumed her entirely. She had dealt with torment before, but this... this was different.

As if that wasn’t enough torment, there was... the company. The fact that the fate of the world now rested in the hands of this group of utter fools — incapable of even taking care of themselves — was downright daunting.

And not only one, but two of her warlocks were among them.

As Quil's voice rang in her ear, Mizora shot him a sharp, dangerous glare, her eyes narrowing as if ready to slice through him. She took a deep breath, forcing a faux calmness to settle over her, the sarcasm thick in her voice. "Oh, absolutely," she purred with a venomous sweetness, "I’m loving these walks. In fact, the only thing I’d enjoy more than this delightful stroll is tearing out the tongue of a warlock who dares to call me pet names."

@adorectrine “Is that so?” Astarion’s eyebrow quirked with curiosity as his eyes glistened with unrestrained amusement. A smirk creased at his cheek, one toothy fang poking over rosy lips, as he effortlessly slid in front of her with his hands dancing against her hips. He acted like a predator no longer on the hunt, playing with his prey that had already been caught, “And what exactly is it that you’ll do for me, Kitten? Hmm?”

Stepping forwards, Kore brings the blade of her dagger to her mouth, her tongue darting out to taste the blood staining the metal. A shiver escapes her body, and a soft giggle slips out as she stares down in victory at the other woman, the taste of her blood dancing nicely upon her tongue.

Each shallow cut of her flesh, fine linework. And each bruise upon her skin, like a flower blossoming. She's nothing if not proud of her work.

"I said so, didn't I?" She rolls her eyes, wiping the rest of the blood on her blade onto the material of her pants, and then sheathing the weapon.

That said, her eyes do trail where Kitty's fingers invite her to stare... That smile returns to her lips as she begins to pick up onto what the other assassin is trying to do.

"You understand little of my work if you think this is the most beautiful I could make you," She says, fingertips dancing over the hilt of her daggers again, while she begins to slowly circle her laying body. "It would be a much prettier sight to spill your intestines and frame them around your corpse..." But no. For whatever reason, Gortash needs the little kitten. Even if she can't kill Kitty though, it doesn't mean Kore can't take pleasure is making the girl squirm, at least.

Or bruise.

There's a loud gasp that comes from the tiefling, a hand placed over his heart in quite the dramatic manner. "You did not-- the audacity--" He huffs at the wizard, crossing his arms as his tail whips behind him.

"Maybe you should have been smart enough to save a few of those bigger spells. You did think about that right? Since you're oh so good at that." Oh, now he was just being petty in return.