taverntunes
“ i assure you they were passed out like that when i got here . ”
goldenglammer
goldenglammer
━ ⌗ ⠂⠄ cb × specify
been feeling so defeated. I dm for 6 players — due to work schedules we agreed to put the game off for a whole month. all agreed to play next weekend only to now tell me someone can't for 4 months and i can't write them out or take over them for that long. I honestly just want to scrap the whole campaign ...
taverntunes
“ mind lending me your thoughts ? was my performance grand or just.. subpar ? ”
goldenglammer
〔 @taverntunes 〕 pirphal gave a quiet huff—not quite a laugh, but close enough. he leaned on the haft of his glaive like it was habit, gaze flicking to the firelight and away from the bard. "truth has a way of surviving longer than most expect," he said, soft. "even when it’s dressed in rhyme and flair." his one good eye lingered a moment on ozias. there was something oddly comforting about the way he spoke, even if pirphal wasn’t used to it. not anymore. "your story carries weight. i’ve heard too many that don’t."
taverntunes
@goldenglammer there was a twinkle in the bard’s warm brown eyes , he’s traveled many of places— his songs along with them . sure , a lot of other bards made up their tales or made them more.. FLASHY to suit other people’s needs but ozias was different . he was ‘flashy’ sure but he was also honest at the same time . “ a little of both . but i can assure you for the majority of the story it’s the truth . shocking , i know . a truthful bard in this day and age ? preposterous ! ”
goldenglammer
〔 @taverntunes 〕 the elf couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. he used to travel with a halfling that reminded him a lot of this stranger. though, he felt bad at the question. not too sure how to reply. he wasn't exactly someone who heard songs often. most he remembered were from war songs and marching chimes. "it was entertaining. though—is it meant to be just a story or a retelling of something that really happened?"
CHTHONIAS
shadowheart had been decidedly alone after the fight with the avatar of myrkul , thinking it best that she took time to process the events that had transpired . her companions had almost died had she not kept on healing && her magic was spent . the woman had spoken to dame aylin concerning her past , her blasted memories that continued to haunt her - but instead of pure fear , all shadowheart felt was grief . even now , the lady of loss continued to consume her in her darkness . how much time has it been since that memory took place ? how old were her parents ? were they even alive ?
they were going to baldur's gate the next day following the road towards it && taking up allies such as halsin on the way . truly , there were more pressing concerns than shadowheart's personal matters but these were so overwhelming all she could do was fall into old habits . she wanted to pray , but to whom ? she had no goddess && the one she had was rightfully displeased . the shadow-cursed lands still raged around them but now the darkness felt choking rather than warm to the cleric , so what was she to do ?
the woman had been kneeling , eyes closed in not quite a prayer but surely a meditation . her old words to bring strength were a mantra of belief , but they rang hollow && empty . it wasn't until she heard the snap of a twig that shadowheart's head turned && there he was : pirphal . her companion , her friend , && potentially far more than that . her light .
❝ PIRPHAL , ❞ shadowheart began , before standing to her feet && pulling the other into an embrace . she was thankful they were all alive after the encounter with the avatar of myrkul , but she felt rather strongly about the elf standing before her . ❝ YOU'RE HERE . ❞
CHTHONIAS
ID. @GOLDENGLAMMER shadowheart could only nod , feeling the resolute strain beyond the others' weariness . the warmth of her lovers' skin was something almost haunting , not quite searing against the flesh but certainly something that was uncomfortable - or perhaps it was his words . vengeance was always something shar had encouraged && taught among her followers . shadowheart herself was not afraid to play dirty if it meant having the upper hand , whether by trickery or lies or some other form of deception . shadowheart retracted her hand with a smile , before moving to her feet && helping the other up as well . ❝ I BELIEVE THAT IS ENOUGH MUSING ON FATE THIS NIGHT . WE HAVE / A LOT / TO DO TOMORROW . BEST WE REST && REST WELL OR ELSE WE'LL BE OFF OUR GUARD IN THE CITY . I'M SURE THE OTHERS WILL AGREE . ❞ the half-elf mused as she dusted herself off . the fire would continue to burn through the night , what with ample tinder surrounding them even in sleep && kept the worst of critters away . scratch was also a keen guard dog who is well at alerting everyone if things were to go awry . shadowheart pressed a final kiss of the evening to her lover's cheek , already giddy at the prospect internally of just the title of 'lover' . ❝ REST WELL , PIRPHAL . TRY NOT TO THINK OF ME TOO MUCH , HM ? ❞ it was after that the cleric walked away towards the camps' edge && into her tent , disappearing with the rustle of fabric && adjustment of her bedroll . this sleep will hopefully be a dreamless one && night filled with no challenges to speak of in the waking world .
goldenglammer
〔 @HERPIETY 〕 pirphal didn’t flinch at her question. the firelight caught only half his face, carving that familiar look of stillness into something quieter, something worn. her fingers against his cheek pulled him more fully back into the world—the gentle kind of touch that had once made him freeze, but now made him breathe. "I don't care what they think is too great a crime," he murmured. "if they won’t let you leave, I’ll make them let you." his words weren’t meant to be brave. they were simple, solid, like stone beneath snow. and there was no fire to them—just the weight of promise, shaped by too many years of holding back, too many losses he hadn’t been fast enough to stop. he leaned his cheek slightly into her hand, breath quiet. "I’ve seen what cruelty demands from loyalty. I won’t let them take yours and turn it into a chain." his hand reached to rest over hers, holding it gently against his cheek, grounding her. grounding himself. "I know what it's like to survive something that tries to shape you into something else. to break pieces off until you forget what you used to look like in your own reflection." his gaze softened, voice lower now, like a vow made not with steel, but with worn hands and open eyes. "you don’t have to be whole to be free, shadowheart. you just have to want it." a beat passed, and then he added, not quite able to stop the hoarseness in his voice— "and if they try to take you from me… they’ll learn what it means to be hunted by a faelyn."
memofreeze
/ / ooo this beautifuuull and it totally makes me wanna drag my dnd character to wp </3
goldenglammer
〔 @necromos 〕 ； cb when you're ready. I'm headed to bed so no rush. also super thank you!
memofreeze
/ / I'm gonna go scramble a theme together haha and then, if you would like, I can totally drop a scenario <33
goldenglammer
━ ⌗ ⠂⠄ cb while I give some trivia:
khthon
⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀do you often venture into these woods alone?
goldenglammer
〔 @enimik 〕 the ranger stopped. he wasn't paying much attention to the world around him until those words reached him. it was like a ghost was woken from its haunting. at first it was like he hadn't heard anything at all. not before finally scanning over the forest, until emerald eyes found the other soul wandering this ancient place. there was no malice, no fear. only recognition before a quiet answer finally followed. "I prefer it. have been for more than a hundred years." the words carried a deep sorrow to them. one from a well too deep to see into. the voice sounded strained. not from emotion. it hasn't been used in a long time. speaking up left a slight pain he swalled down as best he could.
goldenglammer
Pirphal Faelyn – The Last of the Golden Lands
Once, there was a kingdom hidden beneath the canopies of an endless forest. Its name is long forgotten, but the stories still whisper through the roots and wind. The elves who lived there were touched by the sun—hair like woven gold, eyes like molten amber, freckles that glittered across their skin like scattered stardust. They were peaceful. Proud. A people in tune with the rhythm of the wild and the breath of magic.
Pirphal Faelyn was born among them. A boy with sunlight in his hair and a quiet laugh, raised in a home carved from living wood and echoing song.
Then came fire.
A human kingdom, driven by greed, shattered the peace. They came for the land’s riches buried deep in the soil. They brought soldiers, steel, and flame. Elves died by the hundreds. The rest were taken. The strong were chained and forced into the mines until their bodies broke. The children, especially those with the brightest eyes and softest voices, were sold.
Pirphal was one of them.
He was a child, small and silent, when a nobleman bought him. Not for labor. Not for adoption. For something darker. Pirphal became a comfort servant—used, beaten, and silenced. Every time he fought back, the whip came. Scars grew along his spine, and his soul fractured piece by piece.
But he survived.
When he was old enough, strong enough, he found his moment. A shard of broken porcelain, hidden for weeks beneath loose floorboards, became his key to freedom. That night, the nobleman died, and Pirphal ran through blood and darkness.
Two other children fled with him—elves from his homeland, survivors like him. They helped him escape, mended his broken body. One of them saved his sight, even as he lost the use of his right eye. A soldier’s blade had split across his face, leaving a deep scar and a blind, faded eye. Another strike left a jagged scar across his chest. But he was alive.
goldenglammer
They became partners. Brothers in everything but blood.
They roamed far beyond the forests—into towns, into danger, even into the Underdark. Pirphal, once lean and wiry, grew strong. He adopted a dwarven diet, learned to drink, to feast, to laugh again. Against every expectation, he grew a beard—a lost bet to Sigurdr, now a symbol of pride and irony.
He still doesn’t speak much. He avoids being touched. But if you are patient with him, kind and steady, he is one of the most loyal companions the world has to offer.
He doesn’t speak of his past, but it follows him. In the way he watches a campfire. In the way he wakes from nightmares. In the way his hand tenses near humans.
Pirphal Faelyn is not a hero.
He is a survivor.
He is the last ember of a kingdom burned to ash, and though he no longer wears a crown, there is still royalty in the way he endures.
He is the forest’s memory. The blade in the dark. The kind voice behind a bowstring.
He is what remains.
goldenglammer
Together, they disappeared into the forest. There, in the wild, they built a home. It was rough and humble, but it was theirs. They laughed again, hunted, built, remembered the songs of their people. But it didn’t last.
His friends joined the war against the humans. They never returned.
Pirphal did not go with them. He couldn’t. He had survived too much to die for vengeance. Instead, he stayed in the forest, silent and alone. Years passed. He became a ghost in the trees—a hermit, feared by travelers, forgotten by history.
He lived with the pain. With the scars. With a terror of touch and a hatred for the race that ruined his world.
But even the most wounded heart can find light again.
He found it in a dwarf.
Sigurdr Fieryborn was bleeding out beneath a fallen tree when Pirphal found him. The elf should have walked away. But something about the dwarf’s stubbornness made him stay. He saved his life, and in return, Sigurdr gave him something he didn’t know he needed: companionship.