D — The Daemon Within

 

Vaervenshyael’s “Host of Fiends” affliction and the terrifying loss of control it threatened.

There are enemies you can see, track, and kill, and then there are the ones that wear your skin.

Vaervenshyael’s affliction, whispered about as the Host of Fiends, was not some theoretical curse or abstract corruption. It was present, it was intimate, and it was patient. Most of the time, it was quiet, an ember buried deep, felt only in moments of strain or anger. But when it stirred, it didn’t ask permission. It clawed upward through her thoughts, distorting instinct into impulse, precision into savagery. The assassin who prided herself on control became something else entirely: quicker to act, prone to violence… and far less discriminating.

What made it terrifying wasn’t just the violence, it was the erosion of control. Each time the daemon pressed closer to the surface, the line between Vaervenshyael’s will and its hunger grew thinner. Was the flash of anger hers or theirs? Was the restraint V’s discipline, or simply the fiend biding its time? Even the elf couldn’t always be sure. And in a profession where hesitation meant death, that doubt was its own kind of deadly poison.

For those around Vaervenshyael, the danger was unspoken but understood. Her companions learned to read the signs, the tightening jaw, the stillness before an explosion. And they learned to keep their distance when the air shifted. Because when the Host of Fiends took hold, it didn't care about allies, promises, or group goals. It only cared about release.