It remained bright, with dusk curdling above the frothy horizon.

The black cat toggled, concealing intermittently amongst the congealed rays of sunlight and the furnished spoils of the encampment, weaving its body like a proverbial stitch into the lacy panorama round about, that now imprisoned the indentured Brannor. These children of Tiamat, some sporting shaven scalps, stood guard both afar and close around the wilder, restrained behind the invisible bars of religious cribs and dutiful watchfulness, longing for the arrival of their Mother, to finally nurse them into that fiery bosom of death, that only a blissful cultist could even fathom or appreciate. 

What’s more? Who were the real captors here?

The delusional diluted minds of pious, but evil sacrosancts, awaiting the coming reign of an additional deity, who was ironically bound Herself? Or the paladin suffering a dutiful ruse to free an alleged unmet monk of Greenest, captured in this convoluted war of hoards and dragons?

The ill humor frosted across the panes of Xaron’s cerebral windows, tickling her cognizance, of a persistent winter where one would still slay or relay to maintain an ideal or connection to another in this world of Toril. Her egocentric mentality had salvaged her nearly exterminated intellect over the decades, leeching upon the available corpus of a once young druid, whose old Gods allowed the violated betrayal of her seed to satirically sprout in the brain of one of Their youngest followers. The bard swayed to the same very id, which within every individual cares only about itself. Adulterating this realization with relationships, even with a blue-haired Hin, a boisterous half-orc, and a stoic bird faithful to the frail physique of Torus, mitigated and attenuated but simultaneously also substantiated the purpose of her careful immortality.

Besides, the Queen to come would poison her invested plot, if she remained lax and negligent.

These thoughts of darkness chased each other, transparently, convincing the witch that the steeple of dirt was not tall enough to church the golden eyes to wander amongst its hidden pews. Xaron opened her mouth wide and tried to mew but her throat only emitted a wheezing sound, due to lack of the mastered vibrato of a subtle but noticeable purr. The feline pouted, with a wry and wrinkled face, beginning to infrequently whine, hoping only the green knight would heed the occasional shrill squeal and the soaring dot in the squall above. Profound weariness mounted and manifested in her face, as the sun pendulated across the sky and her green eyes with their narrow charcoal pupils frayed an expression both languid and sentimental. 

Soon, the night would better camouflage her intentions. 

She would rest, along with her paused penchant of wine, dragonchess and pickled mushrooms, to follow him to his cell. Possibly a rodent would suit this better. A cat and mouse game after all? All the while, Judgement would conveniently keep tabs on the others, cementing and confirming all of their whereabouts, including Leosin, to embolden their escape, with ease and elegance.

[Hider=Mechanics]

Torus/Xaron will refresh every short rest as needed, to replenish her Wildshape as a cat. She is trying to garner the attention of Brannor through squeals, purrs and this feline made structure, pointing to Judgement above.

Performance = [url = https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/8685]22[/url].

[/Hider]