Multiple Settings 🌑𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓢𝓾𝓷 𝓐𝓼𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓷𝓽🌑

[Soul_]

• Coded
• Not coded

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    intro

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    Í tokuni

    
    
    
    

    Eivør

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    overview.

    
    
    
    

    E

    laris is a world on the brink of oblivion. The Black Sun, an eerie celestial body, has begun to eclipse the true sun, casting the land in a sickly twilight. Crops wither, beasts mutate, and shadows move with unnatural intent. The great kingdoms have crumbled into city-states, each ruled by desperate lords, warlocks, or worse. The people whisper of the End Prophecy—a doom written in forgotten tongues that speaks of a new age birthed in blood and madness. Each of you is bound by fate. Whether by choice, accident, or unseen design, they are marked by an Omen of the Black Sun, a strange sigil that grants them power—at a terrible cost. They find themselves in the doomed city of Vhalgaard, where the dead do not rest and the nobility worship something that isn’t human.
    
    
    
    Now The End Prophecy is starting to become true and the world is falling apart more everyday. The Marked Ones must find a way the end this, even though so many before you had failed. The world of Elaris is on the groups shoulders
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    Cast

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    Cast

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    Cassandra Arkane

    
    
    
    

    closed

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Player Name: Neo Alice
    Character Name: Cassandra Arkane
    Age: 21
    Race: Artificial Human
    Class/Role: Witch.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    Kika

    
    
    
    

    Closed

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    Player Bame: BuggaBoo
    Character Name:The Vigilante Assassin
    Race: human
    Age: 28
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    Lyrio

    
    
    
    

    Closed

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Player Name: Meatball30
    Character Name: Lyrio, often ironically nicknamed the "blind bowman" or the "once-blind"
    Race: Human
    Age: 27
    Class/Role: Far-seeing marksman and scout - skilled with his bow and doubly deadly if tapping into his precognitive ability.
    ----
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    Kaelar Veyne

    
    
    
    

    Closed

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Player Name: Soul_
    Character Name: Kaelar Veyne, The Oathbound, Last of the Duskborne
    Race: Duskborne Elf (A rare and fading lineage of elves bound to the cycle of celestial omens.)
    Age: 237 (Though his soul feels far older.)
    Class/Role: Oathsworn Revenant(A warrior bound to an unbreakable curse.)
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    Adol L. Tridust

    
    
    
    

    closed

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Player Name: SternLuLu
    Character Name: Adol L. Tridust
    Race: Half-Elf
    Age: 25(near-immortal )
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    Role seven

    
    
    
    

    open

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam ut sem in purus rutrum laoreet. Duis eget blandit ante. Mauris nec lectus ut lacus imperdiet consequat. Sed sit amet elementum orci. Vestibulum at orci molestie, dignissim libero quis, vestibulum magna. Maecenas in pretium ante. Sed laoreet metus a neque rutrum, et tincidunt dolor cursus. Sed accumsan leo odio, sit amet cursus sapien placerat quis.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    role six

    
    
    
    

    open

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam ut sem in purus rutrum laoreet. Duis eget blandit ante. Mauris nec lectus ut lacus imperdiet consequat. Sed sit amet elementum orci. Vestibulum at orci molestie, dignissim libero quis, vestibulum magna. Maecenas in pretium ante. Sed laoreet metus a neque rutrum, et tincidunt dolor cursus. Sed accumsan leo odio, sit amet cursus sapien placerat quis.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    Role eight

    
    
    
    

    Open

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Info
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    rules

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    rules.

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    Respect Everyone’s Boundaries

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    Consent is key: Always ask before doing anything that might affect another player’s character in a major way. This can be about physical harm, emotional impacts, or major plot twists.
    No godmodding: Don’t take control of someone else’s character or actions. Let others decide how their characters react.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    Be Inclusive

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    Everyone gets a turn: Avoid hogging the spotlight. Allow everyone in the group a chance to contribute and interact.
    be LGBTQ+ friendly
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    Clear Communication

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    Plot clarity: If you’re starting a new plot arc, make sure it’s clear for everyone involved. Don’t assume everyone knows what’s going on if they haven’t been around.
    Talk OOC when needed: If something isn’t clear or if you need to clarify something, feel free to speak out of character to avoid misunderstandings.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  intro

  
  
  
  

  Cast

  
  
  
  

  rules

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  The world is indeed comic,

  
  
  
  

  but the joke is on

  mankind

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  genre

  
  
  
  

  Dark Fantasy. Lovecraftian

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  status

  
  
  
  

  accepting

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  gms

  
  
  
  

  Soul_

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  spots open

  
  
  
  

  Unkown

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  question

  
  
  
  

  answer

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  https://www.rpnation.com/threads/the-black-sun-ascendant-character-sheet.554430/

  cs

  https://www.rpnation.com/threads/the-black-sun-ascendant-character-sheet.554430/
  

  
  
  
  
  

  https://www.rpnation.com/threads/the-black-sun-ascendant-lore.554439/

  lore

  https://www.rpnation.com/threads/the-black-sun-ascendant-lore.554439/
  

  
  
  
  
  

  https://www.rpnation.com/threads/the-black-sun-ascendant-ooc.554399/#post-12138211

  ooc

  https://www.rpnation.com/threads/the-black-sun-ascendant-ooc.554399/#post-12138211
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡
  
  
• 
  The world is indeed comic,but the joke is on mankind
  
  genre: Dark Fantasy. Lovecraftian
  
  status: accepting
  
  gm: Soul_
  
  spots open:Unkown
  
  question: answer
  
  Song​
  
  Eivør – Í tokuni Song and Translation
  
  
  
  Overview ​
  Elaris is a world on the brink of oblivion. The Black Sun, an eerie celestial body, has begun to eclipse the true sun, casting the land in a sickly twilight. Crops wither, beasts mutate, and shadows move with unnatural intent. The great kingdoms have crumbled into city-states, each ruled by desperate lords, warlocks, or worse. The people whisper of the End Prophecy—a doom written in forgotten tongues that speaks of a new age birthed in blood and madness. Each of you is bound by fate. Whether by choice, accident, or unseen design, they are marked by an Omen of the Black Sun, a strange sigil that grants them power—at a terrible cost. They find themselves in the doomed city of Vhalgaard, where the dead do not rest and the nobility worship something that isn’t human.
  
  
  
  Now The End Prophecy is starting to become true and the world is falling apart more everyday. The Marked Ones must find a way the end this, even though so many before you had failed. The world of Elaris is on the groups shoulders
  
  
  
  Cast​
  Cassandra Arkane
  
  closed
  
  Player Name: Neo Alice
  Character Name: Cassandra Arkane
  Age: 21
  Race: Artificial Human
  Class/Role: Witch.
  
  Mother Aleska
  Closed
  
  Player Bame: BuggaBoo
  Character Name: Mother Aleska
  Race: Dryad
  Age: 501
  
  
  Lyrio
  Closed
  
  Player Name: Meatball30
  Character Name: Lyrio, often ironically nicknamed the "blind bowman" or the "once-blind"
  Race: Human
  Age: 27
  Class/Role: Far-seeing marksman and scout - skilled with his bow and doubly deadly if tapping into his precognitive ability.
  ----
  
  
  Kaelar Veyne
  Closed
  
  Player Name: Soul_
  Character Name: Kaelar Veyne, The Oathbound, Last of the Duskborne
  Race: Duskborne Elf (A rare and fading lineage of elves bound to the cycle of celestial omens.)
  Age: 237 (Though his soul feels far older.)
  Class/Role: Oathsworn Revenant(A warrior bound to an unbreakable curse.)
  
  
  Rules​
  
  Respect Everyone’s Boundaries
  
  Consent is key: Always ask before doing anything that might affect another player’s character in a major way. This can be about physical harm, emotional impacts, or major plot twists.
  No godmodding: Don’t take control of someone else’s character or actions. Let others decide how their characters react.
  This is also 18+ thank you
  
  
  
  Be Inclusive
  
  Everyone gets a turn: Avoid hogging the spotlight. Allow everyone in the group a chance to contribute and interact.
  be LGBTQ+ friendly
  
  
  
  
  Clear Communication
  
  Plot clarity: If you’re starting a new plot arc, make sure it’s clear for everyone involved. Don’t assume everyone knows what’s going on if they haven’t been around.
  Talk OOC when needed: If something isn’t clear or if you need to clarify something, feel free to speak out of character to avoid misunderstandings.
  
  
  

 

[Soul_]

The city of Vhalgaard stood defiant against the creeping oblivion, its towering walls bathed in the sickly glow of the Black Sun. Once a beacon of progress, it was now the last flickering ember of civilization on Elaris. Outside the gates, the land was a graveyard of withered fields and twisted ruins, where the air reeked of decay, and the wind carried whispers that were not of this world.

Kaelar knew that much; he knew that wasn't a place he wished to be in—not again. Though in all honesty, he wasn't too much of a fan of the town. He would swear that the shadows were truly shadows. They stretched at impossible angles, lingered too long after their owners had moved. Not that anyone believed him.

"This place is a nightmare," the elf muttered to no one in particular, his voice barely audible over the murmur of the crowded streets. His arms were crossed as he navigated through the throng of people, brushing past weary travelers, cloaked merchants, and hollow-eyed refugees who had come seeking shelter.

 

[Syan]

Curly



Curly was acquainted with death, perhaps even intimately. He had seen people die, and some he had killed with his own hands. But the shock of it never left him. The violent death throes; the last gasps of life; and then the end, a pure and complete blankness of the eyes and the soul. Some part of him registered the necessity of it. As if it was ordained by a cruel fate, whether for the sake of good or for the sake of evil: although in recent times, evil seemed to triumph over all conscience. Out on the streets, he could hear the splosh of puddles being walked into. He heard the uncaring gait of refugees who walked without aim and care. Then a light pitter-patter of rain—or not rain, but someone emptying their chamber pot onto the streets from above. He couldn’t help but chuckle. Even in the darkest of times, a semblance of normalcy still remained. The notion gave him hope. He felt the ground rumble beneath him, humming to the tune of the city’s passengers, rolling over their bodies. The guardsmen thumping their pollaxes on the ground, threatening the refugees and pilgrims into order. A theft of a purse. The nasally rambling of a nobleman come slumming in the commoner’s district. A slash of the throat: blood spraying, filtering into the ground despite the hands trying to pause the flow, and spilling out like a rare elixir. And the sound of a low, baritone voice in song, a raunchy song, maybe from the local tavern.
Curly cleaned his mace with the rags of his assailant. The man was slumped on the ground, head askew on brick walls. ‘Shouldn’t have done that,’ he muttered, ‘but I can understand.’ The mace sparked with latent energy; it burned the air around it, leaving sparks in its wake. As he cleaned it, the mace calmed. His assailant was in no position to complain. Curly didn’t check if he was dead, feinting death or simply unconscious, but—‘That’s a nasty gash on your forehead, my friend. I wouldn’t want an infection.’ Blood pooled around and dripped from the wound at an incessant rate. A crow was cawking above him; and a carpenter’s low thud thud thud filled the air, although from which side he couldn’t tell. He checked the man’s pulse: faint, but still there. Curly had almost thought he was dead, the way he had ragdolled onto the ground with that initial swing. It was almost instinctive on Curly’s part: a raw force of self-preservation, manifesting as the momentum of his mace. It slammed into the assailant’s head. The mace was not ‘warm’ enough to kill him with its magic, but the damage was still there. He put his hand up to the forehead, and steadily recited,

Goddess, protect this man​

Though he scant deserves good.​

Goddess of light, cure his​

Soul, though it is sinful.​

A warm, diffuse glow spread out from his hand, enveloping the wound on the assailant’s forehead. He shivered. The wound slowly closed—cosmically stitched into its original form—before the skin seemed as anew beneath the caked, coagulated blood. Curly got up. ‘You fucking idiot,’ he said. ‘Wake up.’ He slapped his cheeks. The man woke up, started backwards. Curly grabbed his collars. ‘You nearly expired,’ he said matter-of-factly, although he couldn’t restrain the malicious grin that appeared on his face. It was a nice change of pace from his usual, semi-permanent scowl.
‘Wh… what?’ the man replied, confused and still dazed from the sudden impact.
Curly slapped him again, this time firmly. ‘You died. And now you live, by my graces. By the goddess’ graces.’
The man cupped his cheeks with a hand. ‘Thank—thank you,’ he said with a hesitant tone.
‘Don’t thank me. Thank the Goddess.’
‘The Goddess…? She abandoned us. She’s no goddess.’
Curly slapped him again, this time with enough strength to send him reeling. ‘She abandoned you. Or at least your senses. If you’re going to rob someone, why don’t you pick a harmless-looking fellow?’
The man spoke with indignation, as if he was seriously offended: ‘But I did.’
‘Do I look harmless?’
‘Now that I look closer… no?’
‘Do you love life?’ Curly asked him.
‘I do.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Bogan, sir. Blacktoe Bogan’s what they call me.’ He paused for a minute and then added, ‘On account of my toes, you see. There was a bad case of infection and they’ve gone—’
‘I don’t want to hear your story, friend. Stand up. Did you soil your pants? Not that it makes much of a difference. I conscript you in the name of the Goddess.’
‘What? You can’t do ’at!’
Curly snarled: ‘I can do whatever the hell I want, or do you want to expire? I’ll put you out of your misery.’ The freshly-minted conscript, Bogan, cowered. Curly laughed and continued, ‘Call me Curly. They call me that on account of having curled a few people’s bones. How’s that for a story?’
Bogan wringed his hands together. ‘I, er… I dunno what to say, sir.’
Curly checked his body for wounds. There was not a single one, in spite of Bogan’s knife: it had scratched past his plate armor, nicking part of the rags underneath his armor in its trajectory. ‘Yes, sir. No, sir. That’s what you will say.’

[Blacktoe Bogan, the thief, was added to the party.]

They emerged from the alleyway, coming out to a decently populated street. Vhalgaard: the city of nightmares and dreams, and one of the last standing places of law and order—or the semblance of order—in the realm of Elaris. In the distance, from the commoner’s districts, he could see towers of buildings, with pointed architecture and a gaunt, dark appearance. Part of it, Curly attributed to the weather; but even before the darkening, the city had been gloomy. Even in the resplendence of the nobles’ districts, a thick air of disease and stagnation choked one’s throats. Curly—as the prodigal song of the Dupards—knew the feeling keenly. He felt out with his tongue and could taste the ashes, urine and sweat wafting through the busy streets. A horse, already weary from carrying a merchant’s cart, stumbled into a gap and fell. There was a snap; and Curly saw the frothing mouth of the horse, its twitching body, before a sense of despair came over him. The horse—in his view—was not unlike the state of the empire, the world, which was in its last death throes. People die. And worlds die too.
Curly covered his head with his cloak, gesturing at Blacktoe to follow him. He went down the streets, opposite of the dying horse, towards the city gates: thronged by listless pedestrians, walking with a hopeless set to their shoulders, and ringed by shuttered buildings, once teeming with life and now lifeless, poised like ash trees looming over and guiding the dead. The sight seemed to be out of some purgatory. ‘A punishment from the Goddess?’ Curly half-heartedly muttered to himself. ‘For our sins and… for our works?’ He fastened the cloak to his body: he could feel a chill coming to him. Blacktoe followed closely from behind. He was nervously glancing around. Something doesn’t feel right, thought Curly, like a vibration in the mind; a warning sense he had typically only felt before encountering abominations. Perhaps it was the despair all around him. Just like the blood on Blacktoe’s forehead, the despair was coagulating into a force of its own—into one singular, thick substance.
As Curly absent-mindedly walked, he suddenly almost bumped into a stalwart figure. The figure was armored in silvery plate, with a gold-lined cape, which was in direct contrast to Curly’s own shabby appearance. A part of Curly—the part that still held on to his Dupard name—shuddered at the difference. As Curly looked up, he was surprised. The man was a Duskborne Elf: white, pale skin; and similarly ashen hair, rounding a pair of eyes that were completely white, inhuman in their visage. Duskborne Elves were rare, and were believed to be completely extinct; although the evidence before him firmly contradicted that view. The Last of the Duskborne? he thought.
He felt but didn’t see—he couldn’t tear his eyes from elf—Bogan trembling behind him. Bogan was a provincial man, a petty thief, and Curly knew such things were beyond him.
Curly, clearing his throat, said, ‘Are you a Duskborne Elf?’ And then he added, in a slightly more morose tone, ‘What brings you to this city? There is nothing here but hopelessness, although,’ he gestured toward the city’s gates as he spoke, ‘still better than what’s there outside.’


Soul_

 

[Stern LuLuLu]

It had been far too long since Adol had set foot in the city of Vhalgaard. Exiled from its familiar streets and memories, he never thought his journey would lead him back to the place that had shaped his childhood. Yet, something unknown tugged at him, drawing him back. As he approached, the city flickered to life in his mind—a tapestry of small hopes and cruel moments. Despite the passage of time and the weight of his past, Vhalgaard still held some essence of life city he once knew, waiting to be rediscovered.


As he navigated the bustling streets of the city, one thought occupied his mind: avoiding the daunting Hollow Spires for as long as possible. Draped in a heavy cloak to blend into the shadows, he aimed to remain inconspicuous. Yet, despite his efforts, the city had its share of pitfalls. Pickpockets lunged for opportunities, their nimble fingers hoping to catch him off guard, while con artists lurked, eager to ensnare the unwary in their webs of deceit. The former encounter resulted in a brief and fierce confrontation, leaving them with broken hands or fingers, while the latter was met with a dismissive shrug, unbothered by the hollow promises of a scam. But it did not help a lot because he had now gathered a couple of them that would not leave them alone. And he was starting to lose his patience with them clenching his fist, ready to fight, but not wanting to make a huge scene.” This place has barely changed at all.” he was say to himself, as he continued to move.

 

[BuggaBoo]

☠︎︎​

---

^{'Kika' - The Death Whisperer - 'The Viglante Assassin'}

​

In Vhalgaard. Losing a friend, seeking a beacon of light...

In the face of looming black, the man dared an attempt to smile.

When there was no response after the 3rd heartbeat he swallowed to wet his pallate before repeating his words. But dry and rough was the sound and effort, cracked was his voice like his lost confidance and charm.

"Whisper, I--"

True to the entity's name, a battle-worn glove shot palm up towards the middle aged merchant, whisper quiet and deadly fast. The merchant jumped, his lovingly styled brown curls leaping off his forehead and shoulders, the coins in his purse shaking as if in fear. His body seized up then shrunk back neath his finely sliken and fancily accessorized attire. His face now pale and waxy in dire contrast to the lavish bright burgundy and glamourous gold lining of his ermine fur-lined overcoat.

"I heard you. Clearly. A little too clear perhaps..." neath the hollow of the cowl, emptiness seemingly tilted an invisible chin, levelling its unseen gaze upon the merchant. Marcellus had to look away swiftly; staring into the black under that ashen hood felt like staring into the abyss itself.

Then there in the corners he spied it. No. Them. The slain victims of the vigilante assassin, tortured souls that remained trapped in this desolate and dark world, only to serve as its spies and sentries. They were barely visible against the darkness but a phantom of the righteously slain was not really meant to be seen until right beside you, stealing your heart and searing your soul.

"Indeed, there is no doubt that I am displeased you have taken this route, Marcellus," smokey and deep was the Voice of the entity. And truly not merely on it's own. A reverberation within echoed layer upon layer of other strained voices; some singing, most screaming.

There are those that have fancied that those 'other' voices sound supressed and muffled as if trapped beyond this world. They likened the voices to that of apparitions speaking in a dream only to be lost in faded memory in the morn. Or pleas of one whose head is shoved underwater and begging for mercy. And so they said that was the Voice was that of the 'Drowning in darkness.'

"You have been a loyal and worthy contact in Vhalgaard. You have earned my trust 1001 times, well over I'll admit."

A hint of a hopeful smile kindled somewhat upon the man's face, his trepidation retreating like the phantoms on the wall, slipping back into pitch recesses deep within the corners once more. The room turned from uncomfortable dark to dimly lit as that armoured glove lowered and gently pat the merchant's chest. Such a gentle touch should have lain his heart to rest easy. And so a deep and breezy sigh he let out, another smile he dared to cap it off. Within his dark eyes was a self-assurance that he was no longer in any immediate danger for breaking relations and parting ways with his long time co-conspirator.

"And yet still... You know what you have become now that you fall to the beck and call of those... so-called 'nobles' don't you...?" the patting ceased, dead stop leaving both in a heartbeat of terrible awkward silence. The smile and relieved look on Marcellus' face immediate vanished, replaced by a dread white visage and eyes as large as saucers.

The gloved hand was joined by the other in unison to trace the gold line lapels of his new ermine furred coat. "At least, Macellus, you have the balls to come to me and state your changing loyalties to kiss ass and boot lick for the--"

"Whisper, please,! My friend, you have to understand it was only a business decision--"

"ENOUGH!" the phantoms returned, dancing out from the corners in pairs of twisted spirals, swallowing the entire room in blackness. The entity's touch escaped him. Immediately his feet shuffled, backstepping away hastily. Mewling softly,.the man twirled around holding his hands out blindly looking for purchase of something, anything. A scream he let out as the Voice swam up behind him, threatening to drown him in the darkness with it.

"There is much you know. A little too much perhaps..." another ear-splitting shriek from the man as the Voice suddenly drove into his ear now, a chorus of a dozen or 2 others desperately whispering their repressed torment and strife into him, "...and you know what I say about loose ends..."

In this moment, the man would remove his fancy coat, his jewels, even his shiny satin boots and disavow their value, anything to beg for his life. But something within him cried out to keep his dignity and accept his doom. He knew grovelling only lead to a long drawn out and painful fate.

As if his heart, though corrupted by greed now, was known to the entity, it too took pause. Speaking now directly in front of him. "...so do know that if anything ill comes of the people-- OUR people, Marcellus, then I will be back to 'cut' all loose ends. Without prejudice.

"Understand that is only a business decision. 'My friend'..."

The blackness withdrew from the room entirely, leaving it cast in that forever twilit glow of the damned Black Sun above. Alone at its centre, Marcellus knelt limply, head lowed, arms but ribbons draped at his sides, quietly mumbing prayers of thanks to whatever gods remained in this forsaken cursed world.

Through the long angular shadows and through even longer dark alleys, The Death Whisperer 'swam' its way back home . Despite an obvious choice for home to be high above in the belfry, the entity instead found home where it felt its heart could find respite from the bleakness of this city. There it could rest and listen for the disarming and heart-warming laughter of the children.

In the ever depleting poplation of the Black Monastery, in what was left of the orphanage, the entity Shadow Slided from out of the twilight and into the black silence of the abandoned wing. There it knelt motionless, holding onto the precious calm of the stillness, reveling in a kind of warmth found only with a mother whilst she held and tenderly caressed the cheek of her slumbering babe.

But short lived would be such luxuries. For 'The Shader' would soon stir and call her name. Oh such a sound was temptation.

And yet she was fine with a shortened stay since there was something of immediate interest to look into. Contacts in the Monastery District had drummed up info that there was quite a stir amongst the relgious types. Apparently there was a priest in Vhalgaard. Not some charlatan looking to swindle a quick coin or 2 but an actual for real Priest of the Faith. The Death Whisperer needed to find out, but it was not feasible to come out in the open to seek out this potential path altering person. No, as Kika the common criminal, she would watch for this person in plain sight.

If deemed unworthy, she would later check to see what bounty would be placed on such an important iconic person to be silenced and disappeared into a shallow grave in the wretched soil of the twisted woods. Until then she hoped beyond hope that this person was the one she had sought for so long.

Even before it became a daily ordeal to fight for control over her life and sanity did she search for that one who could restore faith in the people, her people, under the accursed Black Sun.

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