#compassofsouls

spotify wrapped has arrived. send me a number from 1-100 for a starter based on that song, or a lyric from it, or send a 🎁 for me to shuffle.

(7 - Hasta La Vista (ROMZN Remix) by Masha Ray & ROMZN)

"Trust me, darling, I know you want to burn all of Wyrm's Rock in a fiery rampage, but right now that is the fastest way to finding ourselves on our esteemed leader's next slaughter list."

Astarion pushed another two very large beers in front of his companion and slid more coins across to Alan the barkeep to ensure there was more where that came from. This was all in the name of survival after all.

"I'm as appalled as you are that they've shacked up with Gortash of all people. Wait until I've completed the ritual and you'll have a full-powered Vampire Ascendant on your side. Not even a Bhaalspawn will be able to get in the way of your sweet revenge."

The Vampire Ascendant stood before the man he had bound to an outer bedpost, a vase of sussur blooms nearby preventing the wizard from using magic.

"I'm going to give you this pretty little trinket back so that you can trade it to Mystra for the removal of that ghastly orb, but I must insist you return to me immediately. Now, how do you suppose I can ensure you do as you are told?"

He toyed with the Crown of Karsus in his hands. It was so very tempting to wear it. Yet, even with the power he now had at his disposal, the most formidable vampire the Sword Coast had ever known, Astarion wasn't stupid enough to risk everything trying to don something that had maddened even gods.

@compassofsouls asked for a toxic Loki starter

The cruellest thing is never the knife.

Because she shouldn't be here, the redhead with the sadness in her eyes and the ghost of a smile, a shadow that lures the hawk through the dark.

Because she can't be here and someone must have the audacity to be wearing her face, someone wearing a Widow's veil or perhaps a skrull playing tricks.

No, the cruellest thing is when she waits for him to speak, to be certain that his hearing aid is active, and then her lips purse, and she whistles. Her tune. The one only two other people should know.

It's a distraction that allows a duplicate of her to steal up behind him, inflicting a strong and unpleasantly familiar grip, knife at his throat.

"I'm so sorry, Barton," she whispers as Natasha's original image flickers out. The shape holding him transforms into what it has been all along and the voice of a dead god takes over.

Going by the appearance of the bizarre shrine (or hideout or…whatever the hell it was), Geralt had been prepared for the unusual. For the terrifying. For something combative and dangerous. This? caught him off-guard. The young-faced man, so cheerful and eccentric and adorned with the most unusual goggles he’d seen, seemed so utterly unintimidated by Geralt that he’d have appreciated the change of pace had this entire scenario made any more sense. “Just the once,” he replied, stone-faced and too bemused to offer anything but a straight answer. It was here he realised he could quite easily become lost in the how and why, and though he was burningly curious he needed to focus on the reason for his arrival. “Listen, I need to ask you a few questions about…whatever you’re doing here.” A gesture at the blue construction. “You have a moment?”

Highly pleased that the buff warrior who stood an inch taller than him had chosen to be polite for the moment, XI was happy to oblige.

"Of course. Glad to."

He stepped out and beamed at his new acquaintance.

"Right then," he said, as if he had all the permission in the universe, "I'm an exploring scientist. This is my box of equipment." He patted the side of the TARDIS. "I'm looking at the local flora, fauna, and any energy readings in the vicinity. I have a permit, see."

Mrs Bennet Mama Swann has spoken.

     There had been a blip in the corner of his vision, a streak of blue before it was gone and he whipped around, confused. What the — oh? Kurt sat in a chair nearby. He’d met the man a couple times, certainly wasn’t on bad terms with him and was more than accustomed to certain other spies sneaking up on him, but it still made him jump whenever he appeared. 

But a special friend of mine..."

"Ya called?"

A small mercy was that it seemed to be completely out of range of the Absolute, which had pissed off the mindflayer parasite for a good few minutes before it settled down and seemed to realise its best hope was for him to get them both back to Faerûn. However that was supposed to be achieved.

This world at first did not seem all that different from his own, but the atmosphere of the first small tavern he entered was vastly different. The air was thick with distrust and fear, far deeper than anything like the settlements outside Baldur's Gate. He didn't stay and felt a group of men follow him beyond the village's limits where their fear smelt worse. As did the environment. It stank of misery, of rot and death and shit. Blood far too long congealed to be appetising. A battlefield.

War. Wonderful.

Nervous though his pursuers were, they had become spurred on with their designs. His shoulder-cast warnings did not dissuade them. They were poor and hungry, he assumed. Fancied robbing an outsider who looked like he'd have a few coins and trinkets. As soon as he sensed one rushing for him, he whirled, fangs bared, flame conjured in his palm.

"I said Fuck. Off."

They tripped over themselves to get back. Called him a demon, a monster, a witch, a 'ploughing knife-ear'. It was so tempting to kill them for that remark alone. Except it seemed they weren't the only hungry ones here. Shapes appeared among the scattered bulk of the dead. The stench of rot and gore grew stronger. And then they moved fast.

The men screamed and fled. Astarion watched an undead beast leap upon one of them, ripping and tearing like...like a ghoul, but on all fours and somehow even uglier. More of them burst across the field, beelining for him, snarling at the fire in his hand.

"Oh hells. Ignis!"

He threw the flame at the monsters, earning a pained screech, and bolted for the woods.