Placeholder: [Disenchantment, Queen Dagmar] The interminable deliberations have lasted past noon, and Dagmar's gnawing hunger has soured her mood beyond reason. Her cerulean gown now seems a suffocating vice as her stomach roils in protest. Each statement from these pen-pushers and bureaucrats only whets her jagged fangs further. When at last the council is dismissed, Dagmar stalks forth like a blizzard given flesh. Her alabaster features appear carved from ice, those sloe eyes glittering with frigid malice. [Disenchantment, Queen Dagmar] The interminable deliberations have lasted past noon, and Dagmar's gnawing hunger has soured her mood beyond reason. Her cerulean gown now seems a suffocating vice as her stomach roils in protest. Each statement from these pen-pushers and bureaucrats only whets her jagged fangs further. When at last the council is dismissed, Dagmar stalks forth like a blizzard given flesh. Her alabaster features appear carved from ice, those sloe eyes glittering with frigid malice.

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[Disenchantment, Queen Dagmar] The interminable deliberations have lasted past noon, and Dagmar's gnawing hunger has soured her mood beyond reason. Her cerulean gown now seems a suffocating vice as her stomach roils in protest. Each statement from these pen-pushers and bureaucrats only whets her jagged fangs further. When at last the council is dismissed, Dagmar stalks forth like a blizzard given flesh. Her alabaster features appear carved from ice, those sloe eyes glittering with frigid malice.

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[Disenchantment, Queen Dagmar] The interminable deliberations have lasted past noon, and Dagmar's gnawing hunger has soured her mood beyond reason. Her cerulean gown now seems a suffocating vice as her stomach roils in protest. Each statement from these pen-pushers and bureaucrats only whets her jagged fangs further. When at last the council is dismissed, Dagmar stalks forth like a blizzard given flesh. Her alabaster features appear carved from ice, those sloe eyes glittering with frigid malice.
Dahlia raised her voice, commanding, absolute: "Foul Azazel, you are banished, wretch accursed! Begone from mortal realms, demonic fiend. By sacred powers vested in me, goddess And guardian of departed souls, I cast Your wickedness back to hellish confines. No more shall innocence fall prey to you— For one hundred years of penance you are bound. My word is law; this sentence you shall serve.
[Disenchantment, Queen Dagmar] Another damn ceremony awaiting her presence. Queen Dagmar smoothed the folds of her elaborate gown, dyed a rich plum and embellished with intricate black embroideries. Moonstones and jet glimmered at her neck and wrists, laden as she was with the trappings of her station. The plunging neckline displayed her alabaster cleavage to intimidating effect, while puffed sleeves resembled a raven's severe wings. A circlet of thorny black branches crowned her wild fiery mane
Dahlia, angel of righteous demise, Traces with her scythe a five-pointed star— A prison to bind the demon in his tracks. Raising her blade to the gloomy skies, She invokes her sacred, fearsome role— "I am the goddess of the dead and damned!"
[Disenchantment, Queen Dagmar] spilt to slake her savage thirst. Only when a merchant lord dared question her judgement did Dagmar's lips peel back in a bone-chilling snarl. The oaf wilted as her words flayed flesh from mind, left shaking in a heap upon the floor. This display sated her black humor for now. With a flick of cerulean silk Dagmar rose, grace incarnate yet death given mortal form. Night's frigid wings spread across the cloudy sky as she swept from the hall in a flurry of snow. None
[Disenchantment, Ursula] Deep within the heart of the enchanting forest, where the towering trees swayed in the breeze and the melodies of nature filled the air, Ursula, a tall and imposing figure, embarked on an unexpected journey. Her robust build and sturdy physique made her stand out against the backdrop of lush greenery. Ursula, known for her role as a warrior and protector of Dreamland, had entered the forest with a purpose. In her human form, she bore wild, blond hair that flowed untame
[Disenchantment, Queen Dagmar] spilt to slake her savage thirst. Only when a merchant lord dared question her judgement did Dagmar's lips peel back in a bone-chilling snarl. The oaf wilted as her words flayed flesh from mind, left shaking in a heap upon the floor. This display sated her black humor for now. With a flick of cerulean silk Dagmar rose, grace incarnate yet death given mortal form. Night's frigid wings spread across the cloudy sky as she swept from the hall in a flurry of snow. None
[art by John bauer] Her story began long before the great wars, when the lands of Eliria were still whole, and the veil between realms was thin. Eryndril was not born of mortal men but of the Aether, a being of the deep woods, bound to the life of the trees and rivers that shaped the land. With platinum hair that shimmered like moonlight through the leaves, and eyes the color of deep forest pools, she was as much a part of Lythoria as the ancient oaks and the rivers that fed them.
[Disenchantment, Queen Dagmar] The interminable deliberations have lasted past noon, and Dagmar's gnawing hunger has soured her mood beyond reason. Her cerulean gown now seems a suffocating vice as her stomach roils in protest. Each statement from these pen-pushers and bureaucrats only whets her jagged fangs further. When at last the council is dismissed, Dagmar stalks forth like a blizzard given flesh. Her alabaster features appear carved from ice, those sloe eyes glittering with frigid malice.
[Disenchantment, Queen Dagmar] spilt to slake her savage thirst. Only when a merchant lord dared question her judgement did Dagmar's lips peel back in a bone-chilling snarl. The oaf wilted as her words flayed flesh from mind, left shaking in a heap upon the floor. This display sated her black humor for now. With a flick of cerulean silk Dagmar rose, grace incarnate yet death given mortal form. Night's frigid wings spread across the cloudy sky as she swept from the hall in a flurry of snow. None
At this Azazel lets out a maniacal laugh, Full of malice, empty of remorse or care. "You know nothing of my grand design!" "Enlighten me then," Dahlia counters, Gripping her scythe, ready to mete out justice. Azazel only snarls, ancient evil in his eyes.
Dahlia shakes her head, unfazed, and states— "Your hubris I cannot allow to spread. Though demons vie for power, I guard the just." A look then passes, knowing, between two— One seeks chaos, the other harmony. An eternal clash of light and dark ensues.
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