Hero's cursed weapon allows him to fight villain more effectively and powerfully, but the more he uses it, the more quickly it will destroy him.
Villain finds out about the curse and turns this knowledge against hero, forcing him to use the weapon over and over again until he's barely capable of fighting back.
A young Anazha flapling takes it upon herself to hunt down her parent's killers, but to do that, she must ally with a being... most unfamiliar to the lands.
Here's some references of her without the ghost, since it takes up a bit of her design.
"... And it spoke with a thousand voices, each vibrating with a torrent of beating wings"
A little appetizer of my illustration for @TomeOfPactsZine, now on Kickstarter💫 i had the pleasure of creating one of the Eldritch patrons, P̵̧̌a̸͓̕ņ̴͑t̷͓̑h̷̻̚e̶̯͒ọ̸̔ň̷̻, the gaping, many faced hunger.
Uhh tw: flashing images
Tome of Pacts is a for-Profit fanzine about patrons and the warlocks brave enough to strike a deal with them with +50 artists and writers.
If you like powerful entities and all that patron-warlock power dynamic (wink), whether they are eldritch beings or creatures of legend, check the project out!
It is already funded but we're so close to hitting the ✨gold foil✨ stretch goal! And i really want that ✨gold foil✨ tbh
Like 👏Look👏at👏the👏material👏.
Cover by Flohgna. Illustrations and texts shown by Rowan (left) and Leevolt (right).
based on this idea that my lovely friend sol over at @broken-horn sent me the other day...just a test ficlet don’t get TOO excited yet
also the “My Immortal” by Evanescence vibes that come with this concept? impeccable. glorious vibes, fam
tw: blood mention, knife wound, bleeding
---
Jaskier screamed and threw himself in front of his Witcher without a second thought, effectively blocking the blade that would have certainly entered Geralt’s vulnerable, unarmed ribcage and pierced his heart. Instead it cut a gash across the troubadour’s upper arm and part of his shoulder, glancing off him and forcing Geralt’s attacker to reassess his position.
Giving Geralt enough time to attack.
Jaskier all but forgot about the wound in the following struggle; it was small enough to be wrapped or sewn shut. It would be an easy fix.
He could survive this, but even a Witcher would have likely died from a knife to the chest.
---
“It won’t stop bleeding!” Geralt cried, wrapping the wound in layer upon layer of bandages. “Jaskier, I’ve never seen anything like this before!”
“The dagger,” the bard wheezed from his prone position on the ground. He pointed toward the mage’s abandoned weapon. “Is it poisoned?”
“Fuck.”
Geralt crawled quickly to the fallen mage’s bloody knife. He didn’t even need to bend all the way down to catch a whiff of powerful magic. Whatever damage this blade had done to Jaskier, it wouldn’t be fixable anytime soon. Not without the help of Yen or Triss, and they were both busy dealing with diplomatic magical shit on opposite ends of the Continent.
“What is it, Geralt? You’ve gone all still and silent on me, Witcher, and you know how that makes me nervous.”
“It’s magic.”
“What? A little louder, dear heart. I don’t have your tragically enhanced hearing.”
Geralt whipped his head around and bellowed out, “It’s magic! What didn’t you understand about that the first time?”
Jaskier looked mortified and so, so sad; Geralt physically flinched back when he met the bard’s eyes with his own.
“I’m so sorry, Jaskier. That was no way for me to behave,” he apologized, making his way back to his injured companion’s side. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Especially not because I’m frustrated with myself.”
“What’s got you so frustrated, love?”
“The mage put a powerful spell on this blade, Jaskier. He was intent on killing that Princess no matter how things had shaken out with his original plan. Even a papercut with this knife would have likely led to her eventual death.”
“...What kind of spell is it, Geralt? Am I going to die, too?”
“Probably not, knowing you,” the Witcher teased. Jaskier released a shaky but relieved breath. The Witcher wouldn’t joke if Jaskier was really going to die. He’d be panicking; Geralt always panicked in the face of any non-monster based threat. “With your springy, easy-loving heart you’ll be cured in a week, tops.”
“What about my heart will heal this magical - and still bleeding, mind you, - cut on my arm?”
“You’ll only be bleeding for as long as you have a broken heart. Surely you’ll be in love with a new person by next week, writing ballads about their fair hair and shining eyes like you do when we pass through every other town or village.”
“Very funny,” the bard huffed a laugh. “I’m glad to see that my generous approach to affection is so funny to you. Now let’s get to an inn. I’m freezing and there’s blood all over my arm. It’s still not stopping.”
“I’ll send word to Yen. Maybe she knows a poultice or something that will speed things along to slow the bleeding down while you heal.”
“Thank you, Geralt. I appreciate it.”
---
I’ll need to head back to Oxenfurt as soon as possible, Jaskier thought. He was sleeping on the edge of the bed, his injured arm hanging off the side and halfway into a bucket so that blood wouldn’t drip all over the mattress and floor. Otherwise Geralt will notice that the wound isn’t closing. Having him nearby probably isn’t helping either. I can just contact Yennefer myself using the school’s messenger service.
Jaskier decided to pack up the next morning and head to his old stomping grounds alone. It was still early autumn but the troubadour couldn’t risk the Witcher finding out just how broken his heart really was. Just how broken it was likely to stay.
Maybe, the bard thought as he rolled his shirtsleeve up over the lump of bandages, I can survive this.
He let his gaze sweep over Geralt, whose face was peaceful in the midst of sleep. His hair was fanned out and messy against the cheap straw-and-feather pillow provided by the inn but he was so beautiful like that. His lips were slightly parted and one of his arms was thrown up over his head, revealing the lines of one strong, well-muscled arm. An arm that could wield a sword as easily as a child swirled a feather through the air.
I can probably survive this, the bard amended. And if I don’t, well, at least it will not have been for nothing.
So. Currently I'm still really wary of my sentient sword I picked up in the last session. As I stated in an earlier post. It's apparently tied to the cult I escaped from in my past before I joined my party. I haven't spoken a word about my past, nor even hinted that I was (unwilling) involved in some really dark shit.
Like I am the pretty face, with an easy going personality, who's just friendly, and the one who keeps the moral up in the party. I don't scream "murderer" or "sadistic cult member" in anyway. Well, because I don't want to. I just want friends and to try and live a happy life. I don't awknowledge the things in my past and I just happily and optimistically look forward to the future with my new found family.
The first night I spent after being made the owner of this sword. The sentient spirit that is in this sword, came to me in a dream and started talking to me. Telling me how I deserve to take revenge on those who wronged me. How him and I are similar beings, touched by darkness. But it's something that shouldn't be feared but embraced.
Needless to say. I woke up in a panic from that dream/visitation. Spent the rest of the night restless.
So we had our encounter later on in the session after some world building and rping. I didn't use the sword at all in this encounter. I 100% refrained from using it even though it has really cool abilities and deals a boat load of damage.
We'll after the encounter ended, I went to go cut some meat off of one of our dead horses to feed my pet mimic. (Yeah...that's probably another really stupid choice made. Befriended a minic. Like. As long as I keep it fed, it's friendly towards me and the party.)
So I asked the DM if I could. And the DM asked what I was going to use. To cut the meat off.
I said, "well I always have my knife?" Like I was really confused. Like was this horse armoured or something?
So I started cutting chunks off of the horse, and DM was like. "Lucan. The knife in your hand starts burning you. It's searing hot. What do you do?"
And I was even more confused. "Um, What? Huh?!" I dropped it and just stared at it.
Dm asked, "are you going to pick it back up?"
I kinda just sighed, and was like "no I don't trust it". I kicked it away from me and asked if I could make an intelligence check to figure out what just happened. DM had me roll an arcana. I rolled an 18.
Dm said, "You've heard in passing that some items can be cursed. Some cursed weapons - can make it so a person can not use any other weapon of their choice"
I was quiet enough, and just whispered "Oh. Fuck." So my other party members couldn't hear.
My DM just smiled and giggled a little bit and said. "Yup. >:)"
-
I've been hiding this new sword from my party members, because I know this thing is just pure chaos and evil - and I know they'd be pissed that it forcably attuned itself to me. But, I'm playing dumb like I don't know what this weird sword thing is, and I'm just holding onto it for someone with experience or a specialist to examine it. I haven't told the party that this thing latched itself onto me and is talking to me and everything. (Above game they know.)
My character is terrified that the party is going to find out about his past, and that he's now the bearer of this cursed weapons that wants to forcably take people's lives....
