My past forged an armor I cannot take off no matter how many times you tell me the war is over.

I cannot bury another friend.

Once again she had fallen asleep seated beside the camp’s fire, her form eerily still and upright as if part of her was still lucid and waiting for danger to visit her. Disturb her at your peril.

Don't tell me to dig two graves on my quest for revenge; we're going to need way more graves than that when I'm done.

“What? You asked for my opinion, I gave it to you.”

𝙇𝙚𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙞𝙚 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨... #MVRP | #DnDRP | #FantasyRP

🐲 !FLASH WARNING! 🐲

“Keep runnin’ your mouth, you’re giving me more time to get my hammer ready.” • Dragonborn Fighter • Greathammer enthusiast • Large, in charge, and very angry • MDNI: Violence, gore, language • #DnDRP, #BG3RP, #FantasyRP

Wren was, perhaps, the greatest gift she could have offered Faustine. A devout priest of a god-no-longer, and a stalwart ally that had healed from physical wounds and could perhaps help Faustine from wounds far less physical.

The small hours of the night were when the weight lay heaviest on her shoulders. The weight of guilt for old deeds never to be undone, the hatred for those she had once called brother and sister. The weight of wanting to feel none of it anymore, to be relieved of those burdens.

“Oh! Whatcha doing down there in the dust? Could it be you challenged someone way bigger than you to a fight? Stay down or I’ll put you back down.”

There were times with the others when she stood tall, her back as straight as a post, chin held high, eyes bright with fiery strength that came from somewhere deep within. In her voice, authority. In her deeds, strength. Then that would all pass, the light fade. What was left was cold and angry.

Faustine gnawed on a hunk of jerky that had been overcooked, over-salted, and over-dried. “What does it take to get some decent grub around here?”

“In a manner of speaking, yeah.”

“I didn’t grow up with my own kind. I wouldn’t count my folks. They shat me out into this world and treated me the same way—like shit. My people are supposed to be proud. Hold our chins high, walk tall, wear our horns like crowns. I’ve never felt that. It’s missing. Don’t think I’ll ever find it.”

“What did you just say?”

“What in the hells do you mean I ‘need to lighten up?!’ They started the fight, I just finished it!”

A rare moment of respite and peace amongst the chaos. She thanked gods she didn’t believe in just for the opportunity to take a seat.

“I’m to be saddled with another godsdamned person to look out for on this little trek?” She took a deep breath that was supposed to be calming. It wasn’t.

Starter for @thesunreversed.bsky.social. The two days after her brush with death and subsequent rescue dragged on for her. Rest, sessions with this group’s healer, more rest, fitful sleep. She had never managed to find a good night’s sleep when others were nearby, especially strangers. Though —

┈┈┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈┈┈ ┈｡･ﾟﾟ･VERONE･ﾟﾟ･｡┈ ┈A DRAGON | A GIRL┈ ┈┈┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈┈┈

❝ That was their way, their heathenish hope; ❞ » A man remembering himself » Crusader, defender, combat healer ❝ ...deep in their hearts they remembered hell. ❞

Snort. “You ain’t so big.”

The worn nub of their quill scritch-scratched against the small leather-bound journal that rested on their thigh, the last of their current well of ink fading more and more to an ashen gray as sentences—and their patience—wore thin. 𝘔𝘺 𝘌𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺'𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘴.

They sat as still as stone, the empty blue pools of their eyes flitting imperceptibly here and there. They saw much, they missed little. Birds landed at their feet and on the splintering wood of the bench they occupied, going about their business as Faustine simply watched. A small source of joy.