#faerunscursed

[harpershigh]

@harpershigh > @faerunscursed > @bloodinavernus

"What do you mean, Wyll can't spare time to see an old friend?"

Jaheira crossed her arms, a sharp edge of indignation in her voice cutting through the silence of the Grand Duke's foyer. The young secretary didn’t even flinch, just kept scribbling something completely irrelevant on his little clipboard as if she, of all people, was an interruption.

Fine. If the boy wanted to play bureaucrat, she’d play Harper.

"Well, if Wyll can't spare ten minutes to see an old friend," she said, voice silkier than it had any right to be, "perhaps the Grand Duke can spare a moment for the High Harper."

With a dramatic flair that would’ve made Rion proud, she pulled the Harper pin from her pocket and slammed it on the desk with a satisfying clank. The poor man blinked like he’d just realized a bear was in the room. More like a panther, actually. His eyes snapped up, startled, and his mouth moved in apologies and half-formed excuses — something about Lord Ravengard being in a meeting with the Sword Coast Lords' Alliance.

Jaheira only raised a brow.

She had stormed burning fortresses with more resistance.

She paced down the gilded corridor, her steps too quick, too sharp, practically sparking off the floor. Her fingers twitched at her sides, itching for something decidedly undiplomatic.

Oh, how she wanted to burst through those grand double doors like a storm with legs and make a proper scene. Jaheira wanted to be a diplomatic incident. Just a little one. Maybe ruffle a few egos, point a finger in some faces... But no. She'd promised herself she'd behave and stay out of even more political affairs. For Wyll. For the new Grand Duke. Fine.

She stepped into the corner alcove, closed her eyes, and drew on the old, earthy magic buried in her blood. Her entire form glows with golden-green light, her body shrinking, reshaping — limbs curling into wings, hands to feathers, bones lightening until she stood no longer on two legs, but on talons. The transformation ended in a gust of air and an outrageous caw.

The crow flapped once, twice, and launched through the open window. She soared over the Ducal Palace in a graceful arc, then veered sharply back to the high window of the meeting room. There they were. All the lords and ladies, hunched over scrolls and self-importance. And Wyll on the host's seat, probably pretending not to look bored to death.

She landed with a thunk on the ledge and tapped her beak against the glass.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Then louder.

TAP TAP TAP.

"WYYYYYLL!" she cawed, long and loud.

Another tap for good measure.

That would certainly get his attention.

[bhaalborn]

@faerunscursed / for wyll.

when they reach camp, all ulysses feels is unfettered EXHAUSTION. it burrows in their blood and bones, dragging their feet to the fallen log the party had been frequently using as a bench. when they sit, they HEAVE and flop their tail overtop their lap. there are what looks to be teeth marks that puncture the end of the scaled appendage, courtesy of the many traps that littered that GASEOUS BOG. the edges of the wound are pinkened and puckered, a result of the scarcely affective healing spell that shadowheart had offered- but she had been running low on magic all the same. ulysses can hardly blame her, only thank her in kind for her attempts. but the reason for all the bustle in the first place-

thinking of the hag makes their eyes flash with anger, even moreso when they notice the build up of some sort of algae that has nestled into all the nooks and crannies of what had waded unprotected in the swampy waters. this will take scrubbing. the thought makes them unconsciously bristle. when they hear the sound of approaching footsteps, however, the make an effort to appear unbothered by the state of themselves, and turn up their head.

" wyll, " they say, with some surprise, " to what do i owe the pleasure? "

[harpershigh-arch]

@faerunscursed

The shadows of Baldur’s Gate hung thick in the alleyways, the city rebuilt, but the scars ran deeper than stone. Jaheira moved like a ghost through the streets, her hood drawn low, blending with the darkness as she hunted the remaining Bhaalists that still defile the city. Three nobles already lay mauled in their beds. The dramatic flair of a ravaging beast tearing apart the ones who liked to carve people's flesh felt like a poetic retribution. Gruesome. Unceremonious. Savage. A fitting end for the willing followers of Bhaal. They had worn the masks of power and prestige, but underneath, they had been no better than the murder god they served. Tonight, her claws would find a fourth.

Suddenly, a foul stench reached her nostrils, sulfuric and hot. A deep growl reverberated from the shadows behind her, and Jaheira turned sharply, just in time to see three pairs of glowing red eyes.

Hellhounds.

Their forms were massive, fur black as night, tongues flicking with fire as they prowled forward. The first lunged without hesitation, snapping jaws coming far too close. Jaheira rolled, her body twisting just out of reach, her heart pounding. She cursed herself for wasting too much of her druidic magic in her last kills — if she hadn't, now she could simply turn into a crow and fly away. 

Without other choice, she darted into the narrow alleyways, hoping to lose them in the labyrinth of the city, but they were relentless, their snarls echoing closer and closer behind her. Her breath was becoming harsh, ragged. The city she once called home now felt like a cage. She knew these streets, had fought and bled for them. But now, she was being hunted in the very place she had sworn to protect.

Jaheira slid around a corner, only to find herself at a dead end where it shouldn't be one. The newly built buildings loomed high above, and the sounds of the hounds were growing closer, their claws scraping the cobblestones as they closed in.

Trapped.

She spun, her eyes darting for any escape route, but there was none. The hellhounds stalked forward, fire curling from their nostrils, cornering her like prey. Her hand tightened around her weapon, muscles coiled like a spring, ready for one last fight.

For a moment, she allowed herself to feel it — the weight of it all. The constant battle, the unending cycle of death. Three Bhaalists already dead by her hand. But for what? Another would rise. Always another.

She gritted her teeth, fury and exhaustion turning into one single thing inside her. She wouldn’t die here — not like this, cornered by some hell-spawned hounds. But the odds were grim, and she knew it.

"Come then," she hissed through clenched teeth, raising her blades. "Let’s see if your masters will miss you when you’re gone."

She barely had time to cast Barkskin before the first hound lunged. Her skin hardened like tree bark, and she sidestepped, bringing down her scimitar in a wide arc. The blade found its mark, cutting deep into the creature’s side, but the second one was already closing in.

Flames erupted from its maw as it snapped at her. Jaheira threw up her hand, casting Absorb Elements just in time to shield herself from the searing heat, but the force of it knocked her back. She staggered, feeling the burn on her arm despite the spell, but she couldn’t stop. The third hound was circling now, waiting for its chance to strike.

With a grunt, she raised her hand, roots and vines bursting from the ground and wrapping around the second hound’s legs, yanking it off balance, buying her precious seconds. The first hound charged again, but this time she was ready. Her scimitar fell with all her strength, and cleaved the beast’s head from its body.

A scream tore from her throat as fire ripped through her side — the third hound had bitten deep, its jaws locked on her. She slams her elbow into its head. It released its grip just long enough for her to call down another spell, and the sky roared as a bolt struck the creature, turning it to ash.

The second hound was on her now, the vines no longer holding it. She swung wildly, her scimitar clashing with its teeth. Every breath was agony, every move slower than the last. Blood ran down her side, mixing with the dirt beneath her feet. The hound’s claws raked her leg, its maw opened, ready to tear her neck. She gritted her teeth, summoning the last of her strength. With a desperate lunge, she plunged her blade deep into the creature’s throat.

It collapsed, twitching, its fire finally extinguished. Jaheira stood over the fallen beasts, panting, flesh painfully burnt and blood soaking her clothes. She staggered, barely able to stand, her vision swimming. The battle was over, but she was dangerously close to following the hounds into the darkness.

Jaheira slumped against the cold wall, each breath a ragged pull of pain. Her vision blurred as she stared down the darkened alley, where a figure appeared at the distance, its silhouette tall and unhurried, like death itself drawing near. Panic flared in her chest, but her body refused to move, exhaustion overtaking her limbs. She blinked, trying to focus, but her strength was fading fast. As the figure stepped closer, the world around her dimmed, the weight of her wounds pulling her until, with one final breath, everything went black.

[runes-menagerie]

Sorrow and Solace || Closed

At first Halsin had been sure that Jaheira must be mistaken when she spoke of Isobel protecting the Last Light Inn with Selune's blessing. Isobel had died long ago, long even before the Shadow Curse had taken hold of these lands. In fact it could be said that her death was what started her father on his dark path.

Even more than a century since that day, Halsin could still picture it so very clearly. The folly of his youth as he strove to master his Wild Shape. His lack of attention to nature's warning signs that it was not the time. His devastation when it cost him one of his dearest friends.

Thus, it was with a heavy heart and heavier step that he climbed the steps on the Inn. He knew not if he would find an imposter or perhaps some specter in the form of his lost friend but he needed to face this as he hadn't been able to in the past.

Yet even as resolved as he was to right or at least face all the mistakes of the past that this land bore witness to, he was not prepared for the sight before his eyes when he finally beheld the one called Isobel.

Halsin stood stunned on the threshold of the balcony, watching as the friend he thought slain by his own paw enacted a Selunite ritual to call down the Moonmaiden's blessing to strengthen or perhaps maintain the barrier that kept the worst of the curse at bay from this place of shelter.

"Isobel..." The name fell from his lips, barely a whisper of sound, one so soft that he did not even fully realize he had spoken it at all. He felt at once a youth again and as if he had aged centuries further in that moment as he waited for a reaction from she who had once been one of his dearest friends.

@faerunscursed

[demonwebs-a]

↳ @faerunscursed : sorry about this wyll

❝ you have better not come here to scold me , little hero , ❞ the poised draw is quick to warn , his legs crossed over each other , perched high atop a pile of rocks , ankle swinging idly . watching . always watching . he had just about enough of that until the next new moon . ❝ i am not above kissing you to shut you up . ❞ and that is a threat .

with the gait of a feline , vhaal'krin hops from above , landing on his feet without rising dust . a perfect landing , right in front of the blade . he dusts off his armor , looking borderline amused . ❝ i am technically your elder , you know ? ❞ now , if wyll had said that , he'd be deeply offended . but since he's the one saying , it's allowed . ❝ so , young man ... i say your pretty face should stop doing that thing where it's ... um , you know . frowning . ❞ upset . that's the word he's looking for . ❝ i've decided i like you ... we should go out . have some fun . ❞ a flame flickers in the red of his eyes as the word fun touches his tongue .

[fereldensheroesa]

@faerunscursed, Nimue for Wyll!

It had felt too strange to be within the inn. Of course, she couldn't go too far from Last Light, she couldn't leave the bubble... but, luckily, it extended just about to the shoreline. Not many came to this spot, perhaps afraid to be alone, even within Selune's bastion.

Light snuffed out, shadows creeping into every soul, twisting and devouring. Consuming. A knife slammed it's point into the ground, as if she were trying to stab her own thoughts. Her leg shook, an anxious up and down, uncontrollable. It took almost everything in her not to go straight back to the woman. To Isobel. How pretty she would be, throat sliced open, crimson running down her pristine robes.

An ear twitched as she heard someone approaching. Immediately, Nimue released her dagger. She couldn't be holding it. Not now. It was too tempting to use it.

[fallesto]

HOW MUCH CAN BE TAKEN FROM ONE MAN.

There was faith, but only just .. it was slipping a little bit with each and every single passing day. His faith in the goddess, it had never truly even been there to begin with, he had followed her, only because of his beloved, but for her to be taken from him, in such a cruel and harsh manner, for what reason, for what purpose, to whom grand design was it that she had to die when she had so much more left to give within the land, he never did get an answer for it and that was what ate away at his mind, his body and his soul, each and every single passing night.

“You where not meant to see this.”

As he stood there for the moment and looked at his daughter, she was not meant to see this, the work he has been doing, hidden in the depths, a new goddess that has answered his prayers, the goddess of loss had spoken to him and made such promises, of riches, power and what he wished for more than anything else, reward for his service. He had started it, away from everyone, out of sight and out of mind, to build her a temple under the earth itself, digging deeper and deeper, and at the same time, increasing the numbers within his army, of those who understand what he was building at moonrise and what the true intention was when he was ready.

“She speaks to me, she whispers to me in prayer, that she can return your mother to us, if I serve her.”

And he will serve her, with all that he has, he will finish this temple for her, he will finish the army for her, he will from moonrise, do as she wishes from him, and plunge this land into eternal darkness. Remove all the light and those he rules over, will fall into line and pledge themselves to her. Those who bow will live and those who refuse, he will crush them as he turned to his daughter and cupped the side of her face with his hand.

“I did not wish for you to see this, but now that you have, you can understand, everything I do, I do it for you, I’ll bring her back, by any means necessary, don’t allow this to concern you, there is nothing to fear in the darkness, I’ll protect you.”

[runes-menagerie]

Cold Hands Warm Heart || closed

Astarion regretted ever letting himself be talked into this. He could have been nice and comfortable in camp at this very moment if it weren't for a certain Tiefling and her thrice damned strength dragging him from said camp to go on an 'adventure' while the rest of their merry band was investigating the Gith Creche.

He had been quite happily reading when Karlach had come over and somehow convinced him it was a good idea to go exploring. He thought there might have been an offer to help him catch another bear somewhere in that conversation but at the moment he didn't care what had been offered.

And why was that? Because presently they were stuck in a cave. In the mountains. With a BLIZZARD going on just outside the entrance. A storm they would still be out in if he hadn't managed to spy this cave which thankfully was deep enough and had enough of a curve to it to offer them actual shelter from the storm.

That did not, however, change the fact that he was bloody freezing his ears and was afraid his teeth would shatter from how tightly he had them clenched to prevent them chattering. It also didn't help that he was soaked from the snow and didn't have enough blood to properly regulate his internal temperature. It wasn't likely to kill him fortunately or perhaps unfortunately but he was going to be miserable for the foreseeable future.

Such misery reminded him all too keenly of his past which made him quite when he normally would have been complaining quite vocally. He could barely even look at his companion as he settled himself on the ground in as tight of a ball as he could manage to try to conserve whatever warmth might remain in his deathly cold body.

@faerunscursed