HengeholdScrollさんのイラストまとめ

(1/7)
She could not speak Khadoran, though she could understand it. In fact, she could not speak at all. She had been mute since her mother had died years ago. In the “care” of the estate owner where she was then enslaved, she’d had even fewer reasons to speak.

(1/4)
Agathon watched with growing glee as the fane’s guardians surged forth. They stood little chance against the master’s captors, but it wasn’t their prowess Agathon required.

An errant spear, touched with the goddess’ blessing, impacted the cage.

(1/2)
Agathon worked with a speed fueled by desperation.

You are a great protector, they whispered. I can make you greater.

You are a wise priest, they whispered. None shall ever question you again.

(1/1)
Yes, thought Agathon. Not an offer, not a command, but a whisper to the mind of this one.

Yes, they thought again. This is your house. You have warriors. Defend it.

(1/4)
Agathon’s prisoners led them to an ostentatious building flanked by silvery-green forests. They were weak, not as weak as they led their captors to believe, but weak still.

They had discerned the purpose of their treatment by inquiries in the final hours of their abuse.

(1/4)
“Is it always so empty?” Hexeris asked.

They traveled the wide highway leading to the heart of Ios, the Fane of Scyrah. Other than watchful soulless sentinels like mile markers along the way, it was devoid of life.

“No, but nearly so,” Ghyrrshyld said.

(1/7)
Pyrrhus approached the Priestess of the Flame alone. The rare breach of protocol was not done to protect himself—rather, to protect his fellows. They had not seen her like…this.

(1/5)
Gathering his tools took some time. Hexeris was selective.

Soulless carried in an array of well-used implements, polished until their barbed edges gleamed in the faint light.

“Is this the limit of your imagination?” the void creature wheezed.

(1/6)
Intercessor Kreoss surveyed the collateral damage. No one had bothered to move the bodies of the paladins out of the street, and carrion birds wheeled overhead.

(1/4)
She scrubbed her hands with the stiff brush, working the boar bristles into her skin until it was raw. Then again into a scalding basin of water.

Feora lifted her dripping fingers to her eyes.

A thin crust of blood remained beneath her nails.