#harellanstarter

This place was nice: there weren't any roaches here or anything. Not that Viktor had grown up with vermin, Ada would have called them comfortably middle class but that probably wasn't true when your mother was a Blessed seraphim. Humble, charming, etc, Viktor had been more or less acquainting himself with everyone in the house. When they were around, seemed like most people were spending their days hanging out with hunters... The nephilim had shown up at a weird time. Recently employed at the city's hospital, Viktor had found luck in procuring ways to satiate his employment needs, hobbies, and extracurricular activities: there was just one thing missing. Well, one person.

"They really do just let anyone in here, don't they?" Viktor asked, playfully. He'd meant to come to Rome sooner but he'd been otherwise preoccupied. His mother, Adatiel, was missing, that had been reason enough to abandon what he was doing and get his ass here. Harellan was another. This Casita had ears though, so if they were going to talk then it was better to just keep it PG, Viktor didn't know what Harellan was doing here but he was glad to find him. Maybe the demigod wouldn't be so tight lipped this time, both figuratively and physically - but a gay could only dream. That was at least part of what made Harellan so dreamy. "You don't call, you don't write, not even a DM: what's a guy to think?"

The location had been up in the air for some time, but the dark called to the drow like moths were drawns towards flames. Harellan stood in the midst of the sanctum, though she was surprised to find him here, she couldn't say it was entirely shocking given recent events. By the standards of this realm the drow did not make astounding parents, though Evanuris would argue differently. These surfacers were bred for weakness, coddled and doted on; familial attachments created leverage and there was nothing worse than having something that could be used against you. Something soft and pink, that broke apart with something so simple like a blade. "Well, Ayi'ig is dead." The spell over the drow Queen's name was broken now, she was to be given the proper rites soon enough, but for now she rest in a crypt below what was once her palace. "What will you do now?"

The mask always did it for him. Harellan had brought Cloe to this of all people but a few drinks in and Viktor cornered him. He pushed roughly at the hollowborn's chest as the mask shifted only barely, "Oh no, Mr. Scary Killer, what are you going to do with that knife?" Spoken sweetly, his hand was anywhere but somewhere innocent before Viktor took a few measured steps back. "Please don't chase me, let me live." He disappeared into the crowd, intent to see this game of theirs through.

"They've changed." Viktor watched as Slipknot fumbled over their own lyrics and there was just something different about them. Was this the real band? Viktor was having a hard time telling, it didn't help that they were all wearing fur suits, "I guess they didn't get the memo on the dress code." Viktor was dressed modestly for the occasion, booty shorts and a jockstrap with kneepads. Something had changed in the other, Harellan seemed... Darker, if that was even possible, but here Viktor was still waiting for their first official date (maiming and torture).

It was hard to tell where the Great Old One ended and where Harellan began, the man that had been his sort of boyfriend was cruel. That's what Viktor had liked about him, but the nephilim had never imagined that he'd have ended up a casualty to it all. Viktor had gotten careless, he loathed the illithids and he resented these creatures, so he'd taken to pinning their magic and torturing them just to feel something again. Again, he'd gotten carried away and didn't realize that he was surrounded until he felt one creeping along the back of his skull. "I was hoping it'd be you." Viktor admitted as he turned to see the Great Old One, his body corporeal and every bit appearing like the hollowborn he'd once known. "Is he still in there?"

Virgil used the magic he'd gathered from fallen witches, generations of Ivy burned in his mark as the sovereign focused on protecting his mind from the assault that was undoubtedly about to come.

The Eldritch runes that normally covered Assan's cheeks and tongue had spread across the expanse of his body once he'd been possessed. The Great Old One within didn't love this vessel's appearance, but he supposed that it could have been worse. The creature's abilities were certainly useful and he'd yet to grow tired of leveraging them against the realm, playing with the Voice Casting however he saw fit.

Once there had been an intrusive thought that he could revolt and take power from himself, but the screeching will of Ilsensine, Marzia Bianchi, brought that wish to an end. This realm and the entirety of the World Tree had once been their domain, they had been free then, free until the elves had taken it from them. So many years existed between then and now, but at last the Great Old Ones had regained their foothold once more.

Formless shadows and mist, Assan appreciated what had become of his lover. "This shape suits you." Came the praise, the tiefling ran his fingers over it, body encased in eldritch runes as he toyed with the dark.