Shoopuf

Embers of a Rebellion

One foot in front of the other. Keep going.

Estelle Lucroy staggered through the forest, well aware that she was lost. She liked to think that she had a good sense of direction, but the sun had gone down and the trees of the YonderTimber had done much to conceal it even before then. Regardless, she didn't even know where she was trying to get to. For now, simply getting away from the hungry blades of the Duke's men would be enough.

They were relentless, ever since they'd failed to spill her blood at the family estate. That was what, a week ago now? It was hard to say, given the way the days and nights had blended together in one nightmare of flight and survival since then. I should've stayed, she thought, stayed and fought with Roland. Better to die defending my home than out here, hunted like some wild game. And die she would have, for there had been a small army of the Duke's thugs sent to squash any resistance. She didn't want to think about what likely happened to Roland, and what was left of the household guard.

Estelle had remained on the move since then, her pack growing lighter every day. She'd been forced to abandon nearly half her supplies on the second night, believing she was safe enough to light a fire and cook, only to draw half a dozen of the Duke's faithful to ambush her. She hadn't slept much since then.

Yesterday she'd grown bold enough, or desperate enough, to enter a small village. She stood out plain as day, as even though her cloak and clothes were filthy from days of woodland travel, they were finely made and tailored, and the lowborn didn't walk around with swords sheathed at their hips. She got the sense that news had traveled of what had occurred in Saryonne, as she found many doors closed to her. Fear was draped over that place like a blanket.

An old widow had taken pity on her, though. Sylvie, she'd called herself, and Estelle accepted her offer of hospitality, filling her belly with a soup that was somehow more disgusting and more delicious than anything she'd ever tasted. Sylvie didn't ask questions, for which Estelle was thankful, instead sharing her own story of the village's woes, bemoaning how their fear had let evil take root in the forest, how the young only ever thought of themselves now. Estelle found it hard to disagree.

She gained precious little rest there, as the Duke's men rode through that night, forcing Estelle to make a quick and quiet escape back into the woods. They no doubt learned that she'd been there from the terrified villagers, and they soon picked up her trail, which Estelle had no great skill at concealing. A few small rivers and streams helped her shake them, but the entire next day she refused to stop.

The heat was oppressive. Estelle's deep brown hair was matted around her face where it was left loose, her long braid in sore need of repair. Her clothes stuck uncomfortably to her skin, and she'd long since taken off the cloak and shoved it in her pack, as there was plenty of space for it. She dared not remove what little armor she had, knowing she might need to fight at any moment. Her stomach rumbled, unsatisfied with a bit of soup the day before. The sun's daily demise was welcome in that it cooled her off, but the darkness settling in was unnerving. So many things came to life at night in the woods, and she couldn't seem to shake that feeling of eyes upon her.

A snap of a twig made her stop in her tracks, frozen, adrenaline suddenly forcing her wide awake, as alert as ever. Her bright green eyes widened, trying to search through the dying light to find the threat. Her hand found her sword hilt, loosening the blade in the sheath. Another noise, a rustling of a bush, from another side. Her heart pounded, making it difficult to hear, and the fear started to take over. Instinct won out, and she ran.

She didn't know how far she went sprinting through the trees. Estelle swatted branches out of her path, going and going until her legs ached, her lungs burned for air, and still her mind told her she needed to put more distance between her and whatever was nipping at her heels.

She saw it too late to react: a fire burning somewhere on the other side of dense brush. Estelle tumbled through, spilling forward into a clearing and falling face down at the side of a stream. She scrambled to right herself, pushing herself up with a grunt of effort, laying eyes on a large man, a large axe, and a fish over the fire. Jumping back with a start, Estelle ended up on her rear, face half-speckled with mud, her hand back on her sword hilt.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice unexpectedly hoarse. She cleared her throat. "What are you doing out here?" He didn't wear the uniform of the Duke's men, or her uncle's. In fact, he seemed somehow vaguely familiar, but Estelle couldn't place why. All she cared to determine for the moment was: friend or foe.

Embers of a Rebellion

Estelle Lucroy

_{"It won't be one person that puts a stop to the madness in Durandelle. It has to be all of us, united against this tyranny. Only together can we take back what was stolen from us, and win the future we deserve."}

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___________________________________ P R O F I L E Name Estelle Lucroy Height 5’8” (172.8 cm) Weight 135 lbs (61 kg) Gender Female Race Human Age 22 Nationality Durandelle Skills Dueling Horseback Riding Medicine Writing Mathematics Geography Politics ___________________________________ I N V E N T O R Y Weapons Steel Longsword Steel Dagger (Secondary) Outfit Estelle wears a thin gambeson under scattered pieces of leather and plate for protection, mostly in earthen tones, along with leather gloves, leggings, and tall, sturdy boots. Valuables Mother's Pendant Gold pouch, running light

____________________________________________________________________________ APPEARANCE Estelle is a young woman of average height and slim build, not particularly extraordinary in either strength or speed but in good shape and physically fit. She is fair skinned with long, dark brown hair typically half-bound in a messy braid. She has striking light green eyes, rather full brows, and a somewhat upturned, pointed nose. Her youthful features and large eyes make her the opposite of intimidating to look upon, and she has certain tells that give away her noble birth, most notably her excellent posture as well as her speech and manners. It would serve her well to learn how to suppress these instincts. ____________________________________________________________________________ MOTIVATION AND OUTLOOK There is a hero inside Estelle, somewhere, but that side of her is currently at war with a young woman that simply wants to survive, and another side of her still that is angry, with wounded pride. Nearly all that she had was taken from her family, taken from her. As the lady of the house until her father or brother return, it was her duty to safeguard the family legacy, and she failed. She is determined to take back her family's lands and holdings, and make her enemies face justice, either behind the bars of a dungeon cell, or at the end of a blade. The compassion in her is often able to win out, though, and force her to set aside personal goals that are currently unachievable, and do what she can to help people in need right now. She has skill with a blade, and courage enough to use it. Helping enough people, or the right kind of people, might win her allies she could rally to face the real threat at the heart of her kingdom. ____________________________________________________________________________ HISTORY The Lucroy family are Durandelle nobility that were once united, but in recent decades have become fractured rivals. Estelle was born the second child of Emile and Iris Lucroy, nearly eight years after her older brother, Bastien. Emile was the firstborn son of the previous Lucroy generation, well-respected and admired, and received much in inheritance when his father passed, including lordship over the family lands, a fertile and valuable fief in the west of Durandelle called Saryonne. Estelle's early life sheltered her from much of the strife in the rest of the kingdom, as was the wish of her parents, for better or worse. Her father and older brother oversaw the region and were generally well-liked by the common folk, fair in their judgments and staunch in defense against outlaws, would-be warlords, monsters, and anything else that threatened Saryonne. Estelle was tutored by her mother, but she was taken by a sickness when Estelle was just eight years old. That was the first misfortune to darken Estelle's future. Durandelle grew ever more unstable in the years to follow, and Emile began to suspect the king would take drastic action to remedy the situation. Estelle began learning how to manage the region while she was barely adolescent, and her father instructed the castle master-of-arms, Roland, to teach her sword skills when she was old enough to wield one. At fourteen, the king announced his intentions to lead a host in search of the kingdom's lost blade, Durandal. Emile and Bastien answered the call, believing the journey would not last long. Estelle has not seen them, or any who left with the king, since that day. She ruled with the help of tutors and advisors for the next eight years, resolving disputes and letting Roland lead what few forces remained behind in the fief's defense when threats grew bold enough to challenge them. All things considered, Saryonne remained more stable that some other, less fortunate regions of the kingdom. Duke Charles Devereaux had been given power in the king's absence, and when the king did not return, the Duke saw fit to leverage his considerable wealth into bringing his own new order upon Durandelle. While his own circle of cronies prospered, the rest of Durandelle began to suffer in his tightening grip. One such crony was Emile Lucroy's younger brother, Gauthier, who had long had eyes upon the Saryonne region, and now had the opportunity to seize it. Taking the land by force was not Charles' first choice, as Estelle remained unmarried (and quite weary of greedy land-hungry suitors). When Estelle unwittingly revealed at court how strongly opposed to the Duke's recent ascension she was, it became clear a strong hand was necessary. The assault was justified by a flimsy declaration that Estelle had never officially inherited the Saryonne region, and that with Emile's firstborn son gone with him, lordship passed by law to Emile's younger brother, Gauthier. A good many men with swords were brought along to oversee the change in leadership, expecting trouble. They arrived unannounced, and at the first sign of resistance, started killing. Roland persuaded Estelle to flee through a secret passageway known to only a few in her father's service, staying behind to buy her time. So began Estelle's journey into the wild, into the chaos that Durandelle had become. ____________________________________________________________________________ RELATIONSHIPS AND OPINIONS I'll keep track of Estelle's thoughts towards notable characters she meets on her journey here. - To be expanded. ____________________________________________________________________________ COMBAT OVERVIEW Strengths: Estelle trained in dueling all through her teenage years, and has become skilled in swordplay in single combat. Though not impressively strong, she has power enough to wield a blade with grace and precision, solid footwork, and good instincts. She can make short work of unskilled opponents or mindless monsters, provided the fight is reasonably fair and the battlefield not overly disadvantageous to her. She is also a skilled rider, and can handle a blade from the saddle well enough if the need arises. Weaknesses: Training for duels hasn't prepared Estelle for many real world combat scenarios; fighting outnumbered or against unorthodox foes will be an adventure for her. Her toughness is also a concern, as Estelle fights lightly armored to maintain her quickness, and she is no experienced veteran of war. She has a long way to go, both physically and mentally, to become the warrior she has the potential to be.

All Aboard! (Closed for the moment!)

Currently CLOSED! Check back another time!

The King of these lands left eight years ago, called away to join a holy war across the sea. His army went with him, full of the kingdom's most noble, dutiful, and skilled warriors. What was meant to be a year-long campaign with the promise of glory and riches has turned into nearly a decade of brutal war, and at this point it isn't clear when or even if the king and his army will return.

A Duke has ruled in his stead, and while there was stability for the first year, with each passing season his appetite for power and control have only grown. With so many of the nobility and their military forces having sailed off to war, the Duke has steadily filled the power vacuum in their absence. His household guard have grown into his own private army, full of young men he lifted from poverty and gifted with power. They were left behind as children when their fathers were called to war, but now they are men grown, and eager to carve out their own place in the world. They are fiercely loyal to their liege, willing to break anyone that threatens his ever growing rule.

Life was hardly perfect before, but under the Duke, the people suffer. He uses the fear of outside invasion to justify throttling them of their livelihoods, demanding more and more every year, and yet the growing threats of monsters and vicious, dark creatures in the wilds go unchecked. None have the strength or courage to stand up to the Duke, and many choose to support his cause instead to save their own skins.

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One young noblewoman, Estelle Lucroy, dared to condemn the Duke in court. A child when her father and older brother left for war, it took her years to understand the extent of the Duke's tyranny. Now an adult, she felt she couldn't stand by and allow this regime change to occur without a fight. She vastly overestimated her own position and influence, and within a few nights her family estate was seized by forces under the Duke's command, her father's holdings handed over to her uncle instead. Estelle was able to escape with her life, a few supplies, and her father's old blade, vanishing into the wooded wilderness of the rural country. She is determined to take back what is rightfully hers, and eventually see her uncle and the Duke brought to justice, but at this point that's a distant dream. Many of the common people either don't know of her, don't trust her, or believe her struggle to be a lost cause. If Estelle can prove herself capable, she could find allies. With allies, she can show that the Duke's hold on the kingdom is not absolute. And if the people see that, a true rebellion could be on the horizon. Of course, she could just as easily end up dead in any number of ways, as her enemies are numerous and powerful, and she is no great warrior nor hero. Not yet, at least.

That's the gist of the plot, but what am I looking for from my partner? A GM role, first and foremost. I'm happy to collaborate to a great extent OOC on worldbuilding and the direction of the plot, but I'm looking for someone willing to take on the role of the world, both Estelle's allies and enemies. If you have a character you feel fits the plot well, that's great, but I would ultimately like for Estelle to be the central character of the story, and I will make every effort to write her compellingly enough to be worthy of that.

If that first paragraph didn't lose you, great! I want to tell a fairly slow burn story, a gritty fantasy tale of a young woman first finding her feet as an adventurer, a warrior, and later a leader, if she's able to prove herself to those she wants to lead. From there I would hope to write a decently mature take on a rebellion, with all of its ugly moral questions and dilemmas, and all of its dramatic victories and setbacks.

Ideally I'd like both combat and decision-making to be difficult and dangerous, with no guarantee of success, leaving potential for the story to evolve in any number of ways. This shouldn't be the kind of fantasy tale where the hero is cutting down dozens of minions left and right without a second thought. If you feel like some kind of light mechanics would help with that, I'm on board, otherwise we can keep it freeform.

A lot of the worldbuilding I left intentionally vague, as I wouldn't want to force an entire pre-built world of my own onto a partner that I then ask to GM it. That said, I'd like to keep things relatively low-fantasy, and have some ideas that can get us started. We can work on the rest together, or if you feel this story fits a setting you already have, I'm more than willing to consider it.

If this sounds like fun to you, send me a PM and we can chat about it more!

All Aboard! (Closed for the moment!)

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Hey there, thanks for giving this a click! I've been roleplaying here for a little while almost entirely through PMs, and figure it's about time I cast the net a little wider to search for a few more partners. What I won't be casting a wide net on are plot ideas and pairings, as I really prefer to have specific plots in mind and a solid foundation for what I want to do before I put it out there to seek partners. For now there's just one plot I've been craving to get going with a partner, and you can check that out in the post below.

Of course, if you'd like to do something similar to an idea I have, please pitch it to me, and maybe we can work something out.

Before you do that, please glance over some information about me and my writing preferences, and what I'm looking for in a writing partner.

* * * * * * * *

~ I'm much more concerned with having stuff to reply to when my partner posts, rather than the length of the post. A certain level of detail is awesome, but I'm not going to ask for ten paragraphs every post. Different kinds of scenes call for different post lengths, and in the end it's the content you give me to work with that matters most. If I have to quantify it, I'm somewhere between casual and advanced.

~ I'd like to think I'm pretty relaxed as far as posting requirements go. I can and will post frequently unless I'm terribly busy, but I won't require you to hold to some strict schedule. It'd be nice for us to post often in the early stages so we can get a good feel for the RP we've started, but once we're rolling I'm more than willing to work with longer times between posts. Communication is the most important part. Take breaks, avoid burnout, even back out of the RP if you want, just please communicate. I won't be offended.

~ Fantasy will always be my favorite, high, dark, low, whatever. Warcraft or Warhammer, Lord of the Rings or Dungeons and Dragons, Dragon Age or Elder Scrolls. I know more about some universes than others, of course, but it's hard to find fantasy I'm not interested in at all.

~ I prefer to keep all communication and roleplaying here on the site. Thread or PM doesn't matter to me, I just prefer to keep all my RP activities in one place.

~ I'm fine with most mature themes and adult content, but I'm not looking to make smut/erotica a central feature of any of my RPs. Potential for romance will vary from plot to plot, but if you're looking for more than fading to black, you should probably look elsewhere. Even still, I am over 21 and I would prefer if my partners are too.

~ My main characters will pretty much always be female, as that's just my preference in writing RP. If romance should happen I tend to prefer MxF, but that isn't an absolute.

~ My timezone is US Central Time. Just so you have some idea of when I'm probably fast asleep!

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I think that covers the most important stuff. Of course if you have any questions I'll be happy to answer (most of) them (probably). Onwards to the plot(s)!

Tears of the moon [Skygirl/Oathmaker]

He found her in the herb garden outside, kneeling in the dirt and finishing up a patchwork repair job. She was ready for the journey, armored in an elegant set of shining silver elven chain over a clean white linen top and leggings. Her knee-high grey leather boots were well-worn, pliable but sturdy, buckled at the ankle. She'd picked them from the corpse of a goblin trader back in that ruined temple of Selune. She vividly remembered snickering at the defaced imagery of the goddess everywhere. She'd done a lot of growing up since then, wearing these boots all the while. She often wondered who had owned them before the goblins looted them.

"One of those fools trampled through here in the fight," she said softly. "I'd ask Scratch to look after it, but he'd need thumbs for that." She sighed, adding a quite "what does it matter" under her breath.

She stood, forcing a little smile for Nuvyen as she took up her pack and her spear. Her long white hair was secured in her usual long braided ponytail, coiling and wrapped in a thin chain to the middle of her back. She wore a circlet around the crown of her head, thin chain as well, a moonstone now resting where once there had been obsidian above her brow. It was not a subtle look, but it was certainly a striking one. The Sharrans would not mistake her for anyone else.

Let them come.

"Ready? It's a long walk, but we should be able to get there before dusk."

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On the road again, a familiar and uncomfortable anxiety clawed its way back into the pit of Shadowheart's stomach, steadily tying knots. There was a heaviness on her shoulders, one she was sure she wasn't concealing from Nuvyen, despite her best efforts. She felt such a fool for actually starting to believe she might be free of her past.

"I'm not sure if we can go back," she said, after a long period of silence on the road. "Even if we wipe out this Sharran lair completely, they'll likely have sent word to others before we arrive. We'll be looking over our shoulders the rest of our lives, sleeping with one eye open..." She certainly didn't get as much sleep last night as usual, rising from their bed early so as not to disturb Nuvyen.

Viconia was gone, but the Nightsinger had other servants, more loyal and devoted ones, too. If they were organizing again on a larger scale, there had to be someone pulling the strings. Maybe if they could find and destroy that person, they could try to live in peace again. Until then, they had to walk a path of darkness.

"I'm starting to think we're just not meant for a quiet, peaceful life. But hopefully I'll be proven wrong."

Tears of the moon [Skygirl/Oathmaker]

It was remarkable how willing the Sharrans were to throw away their own lives. They were told the bliss of the void awaited them, a perfect state of absence and nothingness. Shadowheart had been just as willing to die for the cause, once. When life was hell, the idea of escaping it into the embrace of darkness didn't seem so bad. But that was a long time ago. Now she had so many things in her life that made her desperately want to keep living.

The fight had been another near brush with death. Too many to count, at this point. The necrotic magic had taken a lot out of her, wounds that weren't visible on the surface, but a little rest and recovery would set her right, no healing magic required.

Something didn't quite add up. There was no address on the letter from Isobel, no instructions on how to find them. If the priest was ambushed on the way, it didn't explain how the Sharrans found them. She searched Sef's corpse, already cold from the magic of the dagger that had ended him, but found nothing. Standing again, Shadowheart sighed. There was more she needed to ask.

She quickly cast a disguise spell, the form of Shadowheart being suddenly replaced in a flash of magic by that of their githyanki friend, Lae'zel. It was a humorous image, the fierce githyanki warrior wearing soft, flowing white robes. She could practically hear the woman giving her a good chk in disgust.

She dredged up necromantic magic from a dark part of her soul, asking her new goddess to forgive the act, as it was for a good cause. "Cum Mortuus in Lingua Mortua," she spoke stoically as the incantation, and then her eyes began to glow with green unearthly light, a power that swirled around her, and around the corpse. Sef lifted into the air, head lolling back, mouth agape, air forced in and out of his lungs by the magic, granting his mortal remnants the ability to speak for a brief time.

"How did you find this place?" she asked, with Lae'zel's voice.

"Interrogated the priest," Sef rasped in reply. "He resisted for three days before breaking..."

"What was done with the priest after the interrogation?"

"Kept him... could still be of use..."

So he was alive, though perhaps he wished he wasn't. Shadowheart didn't feel any animosity for being given up. The vast majority of Selunites weren't mentally equipped to withstand the torture a trained Sharran could inflict. Three days was an impressive feat, all things considered.

"And where is the priest being kept?"

"Our hideout," Sef answered simply. "Under lock and key..."

Shadowheart shook her head. Obviously. Even in death this novice wasn't particularly helpful. "How do I reach this hideout?"

"On the road to Baldur's Gate. Find a trail that leads east into the hills. There is a dark pond, and a cave. The Nightsinger's faithful are inside..."

"And how well is this hideout defended?"

"Not expecting attack, but... the faithful are arriving from all corners of the Sword Coast... seek their lair... and you will die."

The spell's power waned and then ended, lowering the corpse of Sef back onto the ground, and returning everything to silence once more. Shadowheart let her disguise fade, regaining her half-elven form, and she looked to Nuvyen. "I think I know the place he's talking about. It's even on our way, assuming we're headed for Baldur's Gate. Taking on a whole den of Sharrans ourselves is risky, but... if we take the time to find more help, that priest will be long dead. We're his only chance."

Tears of the moon [Skygirl/Oathmaker]

Sef tried to run, but a sudden scream and the heavy footsteps of an owlbear preceded a rather horrid crunch and tearing of flesh. So much for the novice. Then she heard Nuvyen's warning.

More of them. Shadowheart steeled herself, knowing there'd be no escaping the stench of death tonight. With just one she'd hoped they could subdue and keep him contained, but now that the numbers were stacked against them, they couldn't take that chance. Much as she didn't like to admit, she and Nuvyen were much more vulnerable as a pair on their own than they were when they were united with all the others they'd saved Baldur's Gate alongside.

"Ira et dolor!" she cried, erupting with radiant light as she burned another spell. There were plenty to spare, given they'd likely rest for the night after this brawl. Glowing gold spirits enveloped and circled around Shadowheart, and she took up her spear and went to meet the two Sharran cultists Nuvyen warned her of. Being caught out of armor wasn't a problem her love needed to worry about, but Shadowheart felt a bit naked without it. She'd have to be careful.

The tiefling Sharran burst through the doorway, seeing Shadowheart rushing right at him, so he hacked his curved scimitar sword down into her neck, only to realize he'd been fooled by an illusion. The duplicate of Shadowheart dissipated into wisps of magic, the real half-elf surprising him from the flank. She rammed her spear into his side, closing enough for the radiant spirits swirling around her to strike and burn him.

She reached in close, planting a hand against his chest, fusing it with magic. "Morē!" she called as the incantation, willing necrotic energy to flood in and open the tiefling's wounds. The spell was more than enough, turning the tiefling's formerly red skin a pale shade of grey as the very life was drained out of him. He sank to the floor.

Suddenly Shadowheart was enveloped in a thick fog of magical darkness, her vision going dark, and then completely black. She heard a cantrip cast nearby, trying to dodge out of the way, but the human's Bone Chill spell struck her in the shoulder. The draining force she'd used on the tiefling was forced on her in turn, an insidious cold that she managed to fight off, though she failed to keep the spirit guardians around her.

"Pitiful," the Sharran woman said, "you turn away from the dark, and now you look like a lost lamb in it."

Shadowheart backed up, trying to retreat out of the darkness, only for her back to hit a wooden wall. She thrust out blindly with her spear, striking nothing but darkness, the darkness concealing the Fidelian's approach. The Sharran slammed the end of her quarterstaff into Shadowheart's midsection, and with it came a torrent of necrotic magic, the blow empowered while the Fidelian was concealed in darkness. Shadowheart couldn't fight it off this time, and found herself blasted through the thin wooden wall and onto the ground in the next room.

Still in the magical darkness, Shadowheart struggled to rise, finding yet more necrotic magic swarming around her, beckoning her, drowning her. It was a cold that seeped into her soul, reminding her of what she'd lost, begging her for the release of absence, the sweet relief of forgetfulness.

"I'm not the Nightsinger's slave anymore!" she declared, channeling a Daylight spell into her spear, Selune's Spear of Night, suddenly glowing with all the brightness of the day. The darkness was banished, leaving the masked Sharran Fidelian plainly visible in the now battle-torn house. She hurled another Bone Chill at Shadowheart. Without her armor she had little defense against it, staggering backwards and falling to a knee as the necrotic magic coursed through her again.

The Sharran woman looked quickly for a way to retreat into the darkness again, but Shadowheart trusted that Nuvyen would arrive in time to deal with her before she could escape.

Tears of the moon [Skygirl/Oathmaker]

Unfortunate was putting it mildly. Shadowheart sighed softly, trying not to think of what she was missing out on by being forced to deal with yet another Sharran plot. She'd had such high hopes for tonight, and so many nights after this.

"I'll speak with him," she said. "The letter isn't forged, I'm sure it's from Isobel. The priest, though... I think you're right. He's either a charlatan or a victim himself, but either way this feels like a trap. Just need to find out if he's trying to spring it on us by choice or by force." There was a chance he was truly a Selunite, and that Sharrans captured someone close to him as leverage unless he did as they asked. Or they merely let him think he escaped, so they could follow him here.

Or he was a Sharran in disguise, come to lure her and Nuvyen to somewhere they'd be more vulnerable than their own house.

"Be careful," she instructed, though it was she who was volunteering to sit alone in a room with a possible assassin. It was possible there were more hiding in the woods, but she suspected the owlbear out there was part of the reason they were trying this tactic.

She kissed him in parting, then gave their guest some time while she prepared some tea. Time to sit with his thoughts. Time to grow nervous, perhaps. Time to wonder if he was actually a guest, or already a prisoner.

A few minutes later she carried the tea to the guest room. She'd hoped the first guest they'd house would be a friend, probably someone from their adventures, someone they actually invited. Hope was something she'd originally been taught to do without, so she dared not hope that Sef was anything other than her enemy.

"Care for some tea?" she asked, knocking gently on the door. Sef accepted, at which point she made her way in and served, pouring for both of them. She watched carefully as she finished, only for Sef to pick up his cup without hesitation and drink. Trusting, or perhaps too eager to seem that way. She drank from her cup as well.

"Thank you," he said, "the road has been... unkind, to say the least."

"Tell me about this Sharran attack again. You used a scroll to escape, you said. Guardian of Faith?"

He nodded. "They were on me before I could react, I barely managed to get the scroll from my pack, and then lost my pack as well. The one that stabbed me, the guardian took his arm clean off at the elbow. I don't know if he died or not, after he vanished back into the shadows. I put the guardian between me and the other, and ran as fast as I could."

Shadowheart was guessing that wasn't very fast, with a knife stuck in his side. He came across like a novice to her, or rather, a Sharran's idea of a novice. A naive, optimistic idiot, blindly serving the moon witch. She had come to learn that the Selunites could be as clever and cunning as their Sharran mirrors. Isobel was certainly that way, when she needed to be. She was smart enough to know not to send novices to deliver messages to Shadowheart of all people.

She let her polite facade fade away, lacking the patience for it. If Sef were a Selunite acting against his will, he would be more nervous. She would detect a note of guilt. This priest was simply lying. Confidently, but poorly.

"I had other plans for tonight," she admitted. "A walk, a swim, a peaceful rest by the fire. But it seems the Nightsinger still wants me to play her little games. I'd wager I know them better than you do. You're still an initiate, aren't you? Your brothers and sisters sent you here as a test, to see how well you've learned to embrace pain, to tell lies, to lead Shar's enemies to death and darkness. What they didn't tell you is that they expect you to fail. They expect me to ask questions to your corpse, because the knowledge you won't part with willingly is the real bait. Am I close, or...?"

A heavy tension had fallen between the two of them, Sef's mortified reaction revealing that Shadowheart was more or less correct, even if Sef was only just now realizing it. He then shot upright, rearing his arm back to try to strike her. Shadowheart was quicker, darting forward and launching a flat, upward palm into his nose. There was a crack and a crunch, and when her hand came away, Sef's face was red and bloody. A trick she'd learned from her love.

Like any Sharran, he took pain well, well enough that before she could strike again, he'd vanished in a cloud of mist, landing with a thud in her garden outside. He scrambled to his feet and bolted, but Shadowheart could see him out of the window.

"Impero tibi!"

Her enchanting Command spell latched on to him, causing Sef to lurch upright and skid to a halt, only to turn and walk with a controlled pace back towards the front door, where she expected Nuvyen was waiting. "He's trying to run!" she called to him, almost playfully. She was enjoying herself a little. She wasn't going to let Shar ruin everything about this night, after all.

Tears of the moon [Skygirl/Oathmaker]

The sound of a cantrip being cast indoors preceded a bright silvery light glowing from the windows, illuminating the edges of the woods beyond even as it cast deep, shifting shadows.

Shadowheart appeared from the door of her study, Selûne's Spear of Night glowing from a light spell in her hand. Her hazel green eyes took in the situation quickly, her expression focused, serious, calculating. "Set him down on the front steps, I'm sure I can fix this."

She'd been looking forward to a peaceful night. A walk, maybe a swim (she still needed the practice), and then hopefully a dreamless sleep. It seemed all of that would have to wait. Once the priest was sat down on the step, Shadowheart propped her spear against the wall to have the light she needed to examine him. Beneath the left arm of his white robes she found a short, curved dagger, embedded in his side.

"How far did you walk with this?" she asked. It was sunk in deep, lucky not to have hit anything vital.

"I don't know," he admitted, breathless. "More than a mile, I think. You... you are Shadowheart, yes. The cleric? Can you heal me?"

She wasn't surprised the man knew who she was, though she wasn't immediately sure how. She'd actively avoided building a reputation in this area. "I am, and I can. Hold still, this will be more than a little unpleasant." She planted a hand against his shoulder to steady him, carefully taking the dagger's hilt and pulling. It caught on something, and she realized the blade was serrated, designed to inflict even more damage as it was withdrawn.

There was nothing to do but pull harder, unfortunately. The blade ripped free from the priest's side, causing him to cry out in pain, and spurting an unfortunate streak of crimson onto Shadowheart's arm and robes. She paid it no mind, setting the dagger aside and calling on the Moonmaiden's aid. Her hands lit with a blue-white glow, which she pressed to the open wound. "Te curo." The incantation sent a strong surge of healing magic into the priest's body, quickly sealing the wound and giving him much of his strength back. He sighed in relief.

"You were smart not to remove it yourself," she noted. "You'd have bled out long before you reached us. What happened? Where did you..." She trailed off, noticing the make of the dagger on the step for the first time. The handle was wrapped in a deep purple cloth, the hilt inlaid with an obsidian stone, black as darkest night.

"My name is Sef. Sharrans attacked me on the road not far from here. I was able to escape with the help of a Guardian of Faith scroll, but not before I was wounded. I am sorry, but they may have been able to follow my trail here."

"Bleeding as you were, I'm guessing it's a pretty clear trail." Shadowheart sighed, her heart sinking. If the Sharrans found this place, she and Nuvyen would either need to go to great lengths to defend it, or pack up and leave again. It simply never ended with these people. "Were you sent to find us?"

He nodded. "Yes. By the temple in Baldur's Gate. High Cleric Isobel needs you and Nuvyen to return. Here, I have a letter..." He reached into his robes and pulled it free, though Shadowheart could see that it was unfortunately stained with blood by the priest's wound. She took a look, finding it to indeed be written in Isobel's hand. She was one of the few people Shadowheart had kept correspondence with, one of the few that would know how to find her. There wasn't much detail in the letter, but she knew Isobel wouldn't drag her back to the city unless something urgent was happening. Sharran assassins intercepting the messenger gave weight to that, too.

She handed the letter up to Nuvyen. "What do you think?"

Tears of the moon [Skygirl/Oathmaker]

Tending the gardens always made Shadowheart think of the Emerald Grove.

She wondered what Halsin would think of her work. She'd wanted to arrange a visit for him since they arrived, to catch up and hear about the formerly Shadowcursed lands and his efforts to rebuild there. Showing others her home was something of a novel concept, a worry that she'd never really needed to deal with before. Certainly a change of pace from what she'd had to worry about in recent times.

But there was lots of time, for once. No impending doom in their heads, no devils and illithids trying to dominate them, no githyanki on their tails... just the Sharrans that refused to give up. She and Nuvyen had faced some close calls, but ever since reuniting with their charming owlbear friend, the Nightsinger's lackeys had become unsurprisingly more cautious. And now that they had tucked themselves away in such a remote little part of the Coast, Shadowheart was starting to believe they might actually be able to rest easy.

Rest, as it happened, came in the form of kneeling in the dirt, plucking out weeds, planting flowers as well as separate gardens for herbs and fruits. There were probably spells Halsin or Jaheira could've taught her to speed up the process, but working with her hands gave Shadowheart something to focus on, something to calm any encroaching nerves.

The change was proving more difficult than she thought it would be. She'd gone from facing down death nearly every day, escaping from her past and trying to make sure there was a future at all, to... tending gardens and crops. It was what she wanted, it was just difficult not to tense at every sound in the woods, not to have her spear within reach at all times. She kept expecting that horrible pain from the wound on her hand to flare up at any instant, only to remind herself that it was gone.

She'd been through a lot the past few months. Physically, mentally. She knew well how to conceal it from people. She tried not to conceal it from Nuvyen, but sometimes she couldn't stop herself from putting the walls up. She told herself she just needed time. With luck, her new home would give her all that she needed.

The familiar sound of panting and padded steps preceded the arrival of Scratch at her side, the dog licking at her cheek enthusiastically. Shadowheart laughed softly, trying to shake her hands clean of dirt before scrunching up his face and scratching his back. She wore sleeveless white robes that she'd bought back in Baldur's Gate, the skirt stained with dirt, but nothing a little magic couldn't fix. Her change to stark white hair and the clothing along with it had been a spur of the moment decision at a time when her world had been turned upside down, but she was getting used to it. Growing fond of it, even.

She stood, about to greet Nuvyen when a familiar roar of an owlbear from the woods nearby drew her attention, accompanied by a crashing of branches. She shook her head. "He's been at it for hours," she explained. "Quite the appetite, that one. There'll be no game left in a few weeks at this rate."

Shadowheart glanced over Nuvyen, trying to subtly search for anything out of place. "You were gone longer than I thought. No trouble, I hope?"