( a good scratch under the horns. because she remembers ) do I look like a liar?

“ you, my Lord, ” the sorcerer raises a hand, displaying hundreds, thousands, perhaps millions of souls swirling through the depths of the eternal afterlife. “ even in your immaterial state, your will and desires persist. ”

“ you may just feed my ego with talk like that. ” her touch lowers, tracing Mizora’s spine down to where her back met her tail.

rubbing her temple— who is giving her a worm induced headache now?

|| is that THE noorie

daydreaming. . .

whistling an upbeat tune, peeling vegetables in the makeshift camp kitchen.

raising a corpse— physically pulling its soul back into its corporeal body.

such a crybaby. (🙄)

lean down, then.

yawning into her palm, bundled up against the morning chill. where’s the coffee.

holding her head, curled into a ball. migraines 🌀

casting a spell to bring light over the darkened camp— the glow mimics a blood orange setting sun.

|| once again asking if the crowd remembers me

guh

|| dare I say I miss baldurs gate🙂‍↕️ I miss the whimsy