#fellbless

He... truly was the worst possible person Sirius could have chosen to speak to about this. The one who... admittedly was in the same boat, even if he stubbornly refused to view it that way. "Well, so long as we get this infection situation sorted out, I would say you have time." The words sound rather unsure for someone who normally spoke with such a sense of certainty. "Perhaps even some time along the way." Lithos didn't need to 'discover himself', he didn't matter. His duty and his ability to prefer that duty were all that mattered, everything else was just a trivial distraction. But he knew that others were different. Others had existences that did not revolve around a greater purpose or sworn duty. So he... tried to extend some level of understanding of that.

Worst or best was often just a matter of perspective. And for Sirius, it was always easier to approach those who felt more like him, rather than those who struggled to understand. His attempt to open up about his violent, intrusive thoughts had proven to him that his instincts were right.

❝ I'm trying... I am a blank slate after all... ❞ His voice carries a quiet resignation. Secretly, still unsure which path would allow him to live with himself. Side with Minthara, embrace the darkness within, and maybe silence it or make it less violent? Or keep fighting, fighting, always fighting—even when those invisible puppeteer strings dug into his limbs and throat like barbed wire.

❝ Though... maybe you’d want to join me? ❞ He pulls a small book from behind his back, revealing the cover with an oddly sincere smile. Basket Weaving for Beginners.

❝ I found this in that haunted town, ❞ he explains, a bit of humor in his tone. ❝ Figured... storing our armor and fish heads in the same chest is kind of... unsanitary. Maybe this could be a new passion? ❞

It’s a simple offer, almost absurd in its mundanity—but sometimes, you had to start somewhere.

Thousand lives against a god's blood who craved to end all life. Sparing, pounding hearts... he tasted blood on his tongue, pearly whites show in a grin, or an animalistic baring of bloodied fangs. Aquamarine eyes burning bright, so wild they lost their mortal appeal. Devil... or worse.

And suddenly any rules of valor are forgotten, spit on the floor with the blood in his mouth. Moving between the interval of seconds, where one second did not end and the next not start. Hands curling around wrists, pushing them against the wall of the ruin they had chosen as their camp. Ghosts and memories of a broken past watching them. Icy dead stone in Lithos' back holding the bodies upright.

The Tiefling's eyes till wild. Heart, and head racing, whipped into a wild outburst by violent blood and that voice lingering in the back of his head pushing every part into a frenzy. Heavy breathing, as he stared into those dark and deep eyes. The raging bloodlust held behind a barely existing fence. But for now, rather walking along the railing, staring at the prey. But contained for now.

The Gate hummed with life, even in the depths of night - perhaps even more so than in the day. Those who feared the light came out to play: the whores, the thieves, the merchants who dealt in forbidden wares. Guards who were paid well to look away. Even a few musicians lingering in the streets.

And in the middle of it all walked death. It always did, and all knew it. The Gate was never a safe place; if he wasn’t here, someone else would be, ready to take a life.

Tonight, though, most were safe. His blade was already satisfied from a delicious kill the night before. Now he wore the guise of a servant after working hours—an easy role to slip into. Leaning against a market stall as a middle-aged woman stocked it for the coming day, he listened as she passed along the city’s gossip.

Apparently, his most recent murder was already circling through the streets. Yet, according to her, no one mourned the man. He had been despised by most of the market, a brute demanding protection money. His greatest mistake, of course, had been failing to share that coin with Bhaal’s temple. So Sirius had slit his throat, placed a single gold piece in the wound, and taken everything else. Sometimes doing "good" felt almost pleasant. Of course, the man’s wife wept, but more for the stolen money than the corpse.

He nodded along, smiling where he needed to, feigning concern where he must, even helping with the heavier crates. In a few hours the market would stir to life, the fishmongers beginning even earlier.

And then, mid-conversation, his eyes caught a stranger. New faces weren’t rare at the night market; but rarely did newcomers skulk in the shadows. Night was the charlatans’ hour; they boldly strode proudly in the open.

Bidding the market woman farewell, he accepted a red apple she pushed into his hand, tossing it lazily up and down as he made his way down the street. His eyes slid confidently past the rogue, his path clear... until shoulders met, a perfect, timed collision. The apple tumbled from his hand, rolling across the cobblestones.

"Oh! Oh no...! I apologize...!" The words spilled quickly, a practiced apology, eyes widened in surprise.

But up close, his flame-bright eyes flickered, burning hotter. The stranger was pretty... yes. But also something more - divinity clinging to them like a stench, and not of the usual gods. A dangerous presence, hunting in his domain. For what, though?

"Did I hurt you?"

DEATHLESS.

Zareth clapped his hands together, his laughter spilling out in a high, giddy trill. ❝Ahahaa, so you do understand~! You aren’t upset about me carving that tiefling songbird open, hmm?❞ He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with delight.

He hadn’t even bothered to deny it, nor had he feigned a sliver of remorse. No, he had reveled in the carnage! If anything, last night’s misdeed had only stoked that insatiable darkness within him, urging him to do it again, and again, AND AGAIN.

❝Because what does it matter, truly, when we are all destined to be cold, forgotten GRAVE-MEAT anyway ~?❞ He giggled madly, swaying on his heels. ❝At least I turned that wretched, walking corpse into something... beautiful!❞

ART.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“So, can we kill them or not?” he asked, tilting his head to the side, arms crossed, sneering at the humans who dared to insult him and his companions. ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“I mean, they were rude... We’ve killed others for less before—like trying to rob us or even just threatening us with violence. I’d say calling us racial slurs is a threat too, right?”

His tail whips sharply, the sneer twisting into a grin full of dangerous anticipation. Teal flames burned brightly, his glare searing into the round ears.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“I just can’t tell where the line is... when we stay our hands and when we go all out...”

A slight hum of acknowledgement was given first, as he looks down at her. She hadn't been out too long, but long enough that it had been the slightest bit inconvenient. "Would you have preferred I left you to be chewed on by gnolls?" The shadar-kai would reply dryly before stopping. "Ready to walk again?" In truth his arms were getting a liiiiiittle tired. He wasn't built to carry a whole person for this long and frankly it showed.

Felyn didn't think she'd gotten knocked out in that last fight, but of course she supposed that was proof enough of the truth of it. That and the splitting headache she had, plus the little taste of blood on her tongue, liking from biting it when she was struck.

She was surprised to find that he'd carried her almost all the way back to camp, however, and they didn't have much further to go. Besides, she'd rather walk back in on her feet with her dignity intact.