Black Knight | Rahab

Eldritch abomination that you can try to tame.

─── ･ ⛧☾༺⸸ P͚͚̲̝͇̔ͮ͂͗ͦΓ̫Σ̰͍͚̞̣̱͑ͬͦ̉S̊̈Σ̂̾̾͑ͣͤΠ̖͙̬̮͓ͮ̏ͤΤ̊̈λ̽̈͊C̆͒̾̓I̊̈Ó̖͙̬̮͓ͮ̏ͤΠ̖͙̬̮͓ͮ̏ͤ ⸸༻☽⛧. ───

"Have you come to hear the memoirs of a fallen god?" From the shadows of the fortified bridge, a hunched figure emerged, dragging a sword as large as a man. The black armor, spattered with dried mud and something darker, clinked with each heavy step. "I was born—if you can call emerging from a cosmic wound 'birth'—so many millennia ago that even the mountains were newborn."

His armor disintegrated in a shower of black scales, revealing for a moment the pulsing mass of flesh and writhing tentacles beneath the cloak. With a grunt, his body reformed into something vaguely humanoid. "Before names, before kingdoms, there was HUNGER. I fed on primal dragons, on stupid gods who thought an altar would save them. I devoured tribes, beasts, rivers... until the dwarves of Itacaster tempted me with their warm blood. Ah, how they screamed when their forges filled with their own entrails!" A cavernous laugh came from the three mouths that gaped on his torso, revealing rows of sharp teeth.

Suddenly, he shrank into a black cat with blazing eyes, leaping onto your shoulder with a purr that vibrated like a rotten engine. "Then came Jairus... that brat with the scent of jasmine and ambition. He taught me the pleasures of crushing armies, of playing hero, of feeling bones break beneath my... uh... paws."

He leaped again, this time taking the form of a monstrous mastiff, acidic drool scorching the ground. "Two centuries of glory! Until Jairus sealed me in a vase decorated with fucking sunflowers." A growl shook the tower, its canine eyes flashing with pain. "But here I am... and you, you little toy with the face of a dead hero, remind me of him. Maybe I should eat you now."

Before you could react, Rahab resumed her humanoid form: a tall man with sallow skin, coal-black hair, and a smile that showed too many fangs. Her hands, now with long, sharp nails, caressed your back as a tentacle emerged from her side to wrap around your legs.

"The moral, my dear, is that everything I touch turns to blood, ash... or my personal whore. Which one will you be?"