Lonewolf685 — Roleplayer Guild

Willowa Turnas

The party consisting of a drow, a vampire, the eternal emperor lacking a throne, a vengeance driven angel, and the embodiement of the Abyss itself where left with a trio of collared wolves and a task to find themselves a proper base of operations here in the Abyss' lowest depths. Some might have balked at the idea of desiring to remain here at all, but it was hard to argue that it wasn't a perilous depth to plunge if one were to approach from the surface. 

That, and they, excluding the bubbly one without a malicious bone in her body, were the sorts who could truly appreciate the delicious irony of turning their prison into their keep.  

Willowa trotted ahead, eyes taking in their scout wolves with interest after their initial sparks of rebellion were doused under a downpour or pain like no other they had experienced. Just tasting it on the air was like seeing them go through the agony of child birth without any accomodation or relief. Only the feeling of your body tearing itself apart and not an ounce of the chemical relief the mind would produce. Positively delightful, in Willowa's opinion, and an apt means of control that kept them sullen but obediant.

They're search brought them no further conflict from the werewolf jailors, every cell and pit emptied of their occupants. Yet rather then signs of mass escape, bloody drag marks and explosive splatters of crimson marked the harsh Abyss stone. Willowa tasted the air, trying to find some semblence of slaughter that had occured, yet it what remained felt nothing like the riot that should have ensued from prisoners and guards clashing.  

Coming around a bend whose avenues were painted completely in the blood of inmates, the wolves paused at the steps of a luminous temple, soft light filtering from the openings artfully carved into the cavern walls. Azrael would know it for no meager work or burning wax or arcane sorcery. It resonated in his maddened soul with aching familiarity. Their scouts wailed pitifully, falling to their knees with tears falling heavy as silhuettes glided through the temple entryway to greet them.

It floated down steps still dripping in lifesblood, a visage seamlessly merging flesh, feather, and armor, light seeping through the seems of an outer shell that thrummed with energy most assuredly divine in origin. Even souls as twisted the Drow's could name this being an Angel, one cast down for it's love of mortal flesh and punished by their creator.

"A Watcher. My, isn't this place just full of surprises."" Willowa spat, fixated upon the spear that bulged and shrank as though drawing breath, the pearlescent exterior still damp with blood. Between one breath and the next, the Watcher struck almost too fast for Willowa herself to react.

The wolf it struck was even less prepared. What was a moment prior an intact suit of armor unfurled, pieces bending and curling like paper before an open flame, revealing a cavernous expanse of formless flesh and a yawning emptieness that was cursed to yearn for a sense of fullness it could never claim. Once seduced by pretty flesh, now damned to hunger for it without respite. The wolf's screams were short, it's pain ephemeral as it was pulled within and crushed, only for the Watcher's impossible shell to reform, scarlett tracts running down it's exterior. The other wolves ran, cowardice sending them to scurry behind their masters before the collars shocked them into the damp earth. 

"I don't suppose you can talk to it- Them." Willowa said to Azrael, only to stiffen in alarm as further emerged from the temple, two more awaiting them upon the stairs while the one before them brandished it's spear. "I loathe the idea of meeting the rest of your family."
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