04/19/2024 06:08 PM  I Refuse - CS Magic is something that has always fascinated me. Conjuring something out of thin air, healing the wounded in seconds—these feats may seem mundane to some, but I can’t help but find myself in awe of even the simplest spells. Sometimes, as I pass Sorcerer's Sundries, I wonder if magic users ever take these gifts for granted, much like a cat might wonder if people take for granted the convenience of possessing opposable thumbs. This curiosity about magic, combined with a reluctance to fully embrace it, has been a consistent theme in my life since childhood. My first foray into magic occurred when I was nine years old. My father had been busy all day preparing to have the city officers over for an important dinner to discuss some new major infrastructure, blah blah blah. I was nine, don’t expect me to remember the details of some government project. I could have cared less about it. What I did care about was the feeling of being neglected after being dismissed by him several times over the course of the morning. Was he neglecting me? No. Did it still feel like the end of the world? Yes. However, I quickly realized that our estate staff were all preoccupied as well which meant I could get away with several things I normally couldn't. For me, that looked like reading my fairytale anthology behind some bushes in the garden for several hours and then walking myself through the city to the beach so I could collect some new shells. I recall the maid's disapproval upon discovering me windswept and sandy - something along the lines of, ‘that girl desperately needs a feminine influence’. (Which was something I didn’t and still don’t understand given that this was the same maid who had to press and relace all my dresses after I had an impromptu fashion show for myself that resulted in every article of clothing in my closet being unceremoniously thrown to the floor after I had tried it on. Had I a mother, I am sure her make-up bag and jewelry box would have fallen victim to my escapades as well.)  Following a scolding and a futile attempt to tame my unruly hair, I was instructed to remain still until dinner, a concept foreign to my restless nature. Even now, as I read and write, I find solace in pacing, my study's carpet bearing witness to years of this habitual motion. At one point I put a rug over it, but the slight change in elevation made it uncomfortable under my feet and I couldn’t compose a single line until I removed it. I digress. Unable to find the patience required to remain in my room and fueled by an extreme dislike for being told what to do, especially by someone that wasn’t my father, I decided that I would try to get away with one more adventure before the dinner. I snuck out and into my father’s office. This was a place that was normally off limits. In fact, the door was locked a majority of the time. But in the chaos of preparation I noticed it had been left open and wanted to see just why he felt the need to keep me out. It was a treasure trove; the walls lined with books, a grand piano in the center of the room, a hoard of different colored inks, some of which I’m sure had magical properties. Yet, it was a single scroll on his desk that captivated my attention. A scroll of light. I had seen spell scrolls used before and was confident that I could easily mimic the steps I saw mages take to cast them. I looked it over for no more than a moment before the door to the office slammed open, the maid standing in the doorway scowling at me. Honestly, I didn’t mean to cast the spell. But I was startled as she grabbed my arm to pull me out of the room. Next thing I knew, the scroll had vanished and the maid was lit up like a firefly in early summer. Though initially amused by the spectacle, my amusement turned to dread as my father implored me to undo the spell, fearing the imminent arrival of our guests. Despite my attempts, the maid remained illuminated throughout the evening, serving drinks and food to our entertained visitors until it wore off and her skin returned to the dull dusty pallor it usually carried.   … Milil. It’s been ten years since you showed yourself to me and declared yourself my patron. I gave you my worship as you asked, you said nothing more. Suddenly I find myself with a gift I never asked for. But such is the narrative of my existence; perennially ungrateful for all that has been bestowed upon me. A cleric of Milil. Is this your effort to shield me? Or do you beckon me to confront those whose talons have pierced the tender flesh of our city? If you urge me to employ these abilities for good, I refuse. Where were they when my father writhed in agony, gasping for air on the floor of his study, choking on his own blood  while I stood by, impotent to aid him? Where were they when I resorted to seeking solace in the beds of strangers each week, driven by sheer terror of the consequences of refusal? And where were they when I did refuse an admirer's advances, only to endure the violation of my virtue at the edge of a blade, leaving me wounded in both body and soul?     I refuse. You and I both know that’s a lie… I refuse. 0 Comments

02/24/2024 07:58 PM  On the occasion of meeting Mira Your cage has metal bars, mine has velvet seats Your bed is straw and hay, mine has silken sheets People come to gawk and gape, I see where their eyes wander Just animals on display, us two displacer beasts Your cage has metal bars, mine has bright, hot lights Your cage has iron floors, mine are faded white You rumble and roar at passerby’s, I sit silent, sweet Just animals on display, us two displacer beasts Your cage has several locks, my door hangs wide open If you escaped there’d be hell to pay, I lay here forever frozen Havoc, chaos, well planned revenge, you’d rampage through the streets I’ll stay here on display, a lone displacer beast Tomorrow you’ll be loaded up, dragged to another town They’ll use your enigmatic smile to draw a paying crowd You and I were never meant to be let off our leash Just animals on display, us two displacer beasts 0 Comments

02/24/2024 07:53 PM  Blondes Have More Fun “Is it true what they say? Do blondes have more fun?” There was a harsh snap as Lillianna shut the cover of her journal, quickly hiding the contents and stuffing it out of sight.  “I wouldn’t know.” This was hardly the first time she’d been subjected to this line of questioning by some drunkard looking for a hot body to occupy his bed. Men seemed to flock to blonde locks the way female birds found themselves flocking to a c*ck with rather colorful plumage. This particular c*ck was about ten inches taller than her. His skin was rough from years of manual labor and as he smiled she could see his yellowed teeth and smell his putrid breath, invading her senses and forcing her to hold back a grimace. Otherwise, he was a perfectly attractive man with chiseled features and honey brown eyes that she was sure had caught the gaze of many women before her. “You wouldn’t?” His smirk made her jaw set as she tried to contain her mounting frustration. With lewd hands the drunk wrapped a curl around his calloused finger, gently tugging until the golden strands were taught. Once he was pleased with himself he let go, watching as her hair bounced back into a perfect ringlet like it had never been touched at all. “Come on sweetheart, loosen up.” She was not as quick to bounce back as her hair, raising an eyebrow in annoyance. “I’m only trying to show you a little fun,” his knuckles grazed over her cheekbone as he leaned in, the scent of decay seemingly stronger now. She shut her eyes, swallowed her pride and gave a sweet and innocent smile - one she had forced upon her lips over and over again until she wasn’t sure she knew what she would look like if she was genuinely pleased. “You could? What exactly would you be showing me?” Her head tilted, false curiosity behind her eyes. The man couldn’t help himself, she was just too cute. Better yet, if she was as ignorant as she seemed to be to the ways of men then she wouldn’t know any difference to whether the sex was actually decent. “Oh, sweetheart. You are precious, aren’t you,” his fingers drifted down her neck and over her shoulder, running up and down her arm in a languid motion, “Fun. I could show you a few tricks. Things I’m sure other men have never shown you..” Emphasizing his point, his hand slipped away from her arm and found its way to her thigh, gently massaging at the muscle. “Like magic?” Suddenly she was leaning forward towards him, eyes wide in excitement, “Are you a magic user?” Now was her time to shine. “I tried doing magic once. Stole a scroll of light from my father’s room. My mai-... mother ended up glowing like a firefly right before an important dinner with who knows, I wasn’t very old so I don’t remember. But I know my father was quite angry with me. Since then I’ve always been fascinated by magic. Are you a wizard? Sorcerer? What school are you?” Rambling, the horny and impatient man’s Achilles Heel.  The roles reversed, now it was his turn to be annoyed. A step back, his posture shrunk, he was losing interest. “Are you serious?” One last effort to try and reign her in, to see if she could be coerced to his bed. “Am I serious? Of course I’m serious! Magic is amazing. I’d love to see whatever little tricks you can do.” a curt nod with attentive eyes watching his every move as she moved in for the kill, “Although, I understand if they aren’t as interesting as an experienced magic user.” There was silence. “Dumb blonde…” Her pursuer let go of her thigh, shaking his head in disgust before leaving. Any look of interest on her face faded. She retrieved her journal, took a sip of her drink, and returned her focus to the going ons of the tavern’s patrons. He was right. She was a dumb blonde. She was a dumb blonde that spoke three languages, played four instruments, and mistook flirting for kindness. She was a dumb blonde who had helped her father pen a handful of bills and resolutions before they were brought before the rest of the council, who always did well in her education, who was playing tunes on the piano before she could write, and who infuriated lustful hopefuls with how oblivious she was to their advances. If it meant staying out of another person’s bed, her body untouched, unkissed, unentered? Then she would play the dumb blonde as long as it took.  0 Comments

01/23/2024 11:19 PM  Somewhere in the Upper City - CS TW: SA “Let me hear you.” Her stomach lurched. “Go on, scream. Let me hear you. No one else can.” Her mind began to spin. Time collapsed around her as she opened her eyes, eighteen again and on her knees behind the theater in the Upper City. The frills and lace of her dress were barely clinging to her body, her assailant having torn them apart like a child ripping the stubborn wrapper off a particularly sticky sweet. What little fabric remained was slowly staining iron red as blood seeped into the floral damask patterns woven through the silk. A gash in her thigh, rusty handle protruding outward; a reminder not to try to run again courtesy of her assailant’s blade. “Did I go too far?” “No, you didn’t.” “I’m not taking anything you don’t owe to me,” the woman who had attacked her was bent over, face to face with the singer. Her thumb and forefinger slipped under the girl’s chin forcing her shaken gaze, “The first time I saw you perform… I believe you were fourteen. Pretty little thing far too grown for her age. I wanted you, watched you, waited as you grew up. I imagined how my hands would feel on your skin, the way you’d taste on my lips.” Lillianna tried to back away from her, but found only the cold brick of the theater walls. Her efforts to escape elicited a droll chuckle from her admirer. “I’ve been to dozens of your performances and it’s not like the tickets are cheap. I’ve supported you through every rumor, every misstep. I didn’t abandon you, why should you abandon me? You owe me.” Eyes shut, unwilling to watch on as whatever virtue she had left was stripped from her. Choked sobs caught in her throat, cries for help that were stunted by her own fear. The caress of cold, soft hands made her skin feel numb wherever they touched. Over her chest, thumbs pressing against pale breast. Between her legs, up and down the inside of her mutilated thigh, teasing and prodding. The woman’s hot lips and tongue contrasted with the icy caress, marking her skin here and there with perfect imperfections, invading her body without invitation. “I’m sorry.” “You have nothing to apologize for.” Lillianna couldn’t look until the woman was finished, until she was long gone. Not until the tears had dried on her cheeks where they had failed to wash away the waxy lipstick imprints of unsolicited kisses that were left behind. When she finally gathered the courage to lift her heavy eyelids, she was alone with no one but the moon as witness to what she had endured. It seemed to mock her, a voyeur to all but refusing to testify to the vile deflowering, petals falling one by one into the cobblestone until nothing was left but pistil and stamen. Shame knotted itself in her stomach, guilt in her mind, and fear in her heart—a raveling of emotion that wouldn’t come untangled easily. Every touch became her touch, every kiss became her kiss. Everytime she laid herself down in the arms of another, there she was, eighteen again and on her knees behind the theater in the Upper City. “You’re safe with me. Always. I promise.” “I know.” 0 Comments

12/09/2023 05:15 PM  The Lord of Song - CS CW: Suicidal ideation, talk about sexual harrasment  Lillianna Portyr - Aged 16 “Maybe you’ve been worshiping the wrong God. Maybe, your life is not an empty scroll to be filled, but a dormant song waiting to be sung.” “I don’t understand, don’t you worship Oghma?” “Yes, but that doesn’t mean you have to.” With every step deeper into the woods, her mentor’s words repeated in her mind. Lillianna had spent the past 8 years learning from Oghmanyte Loremasters at her father’s wishes. She had never considered herself more than a casual worshiper of Oghma, but had taken their teachings to heart nevertheless. Ideas were sacred. Knowledge was meant to be shared. Truth was meant to be protected and lies were meant to be proven false. It seemed that it only made sense for her to give offering to the Patron of Bards, so she had never questioned the path her father or the Loremasters had placed in front of her. After all, it was much easier than having to figure out what she wanted for herself. So, why now did she find herself alone in the middle of the woods, answering what may or may not have been the call of a minor deity that, as far as she was concerned, served Oghma himself? Milil, the so-called Lord of Song. Following her own curiosity, Lillianna managed to guide herself to a ridge overlooking the woods. Spring had turned the blossoms various shades of pink and white, mixing with the greens of oak leaves and willow branches that seemed like arms extending down to her. The forest floor was soft underfoot and wildflowers were sprouting where the winter snow had melted to beckon them forth. She paused as a wave of apprehension caused her to hesitate. She had faced the fear of the unknown before, but never in such a serene setting. It seemed almost ridiculous to feel so uneasy here.  Lillianna had found where she felt she needed to be, but she saw no god here. Yet, the seizing of her muscles told her there was no reason to move any further than the base of the moss covered oak she was standing at now. “Hello?” She called out, at a loss for any other idea. The only response she got was alarmed bird song at the sound of something utterly un-bird-like. “Excuse me! Mr. Milil… uh, sir! I think I have something of yours!” She stretched out her hand, a golden ring with an opal set between two dancing hollyphants, a symbol she had been told was a sign of approval from the Lord of Song himself. But the only souls to witness her desperate try to reach the god were the increasingly distressed songbirds in their nests above her. This was foolish. She was foolish. She couldn’t even make a connection with kids her own age without her father orchestrating it like some twisted teenage playdate and even then she would ruin it in the end. How stupid was she to think she could simply waltz into the forest and make a connection with a god, regardless of his relevance or lower status among the pantheon? Whatever perceived fame she had didn’t matter in the middle of nowhere, whatever shred of influence she held in the city didn’t exist here. In the grand scheme of things she wasn’t important enough to be recognized by a deity, even a lesser one. It felt like a joke. But still, she tried to have patience. “HELLOOOOOO,” she shouted one last time, scattering the birds from the canopy, leaving her surrounded by nothing but trees and a sense of failure. Then anger. How was this fair to give her false hope? To drag her out, a two hour walk into the woods, making her sick to her stomach with anxiety to be greeted with silence. She held the ring tight in her fist, raising her hand to loose it into the trees below and be done with it. But as she went to rid herself of this practical joke, something grabbed her wrist and stopped her.  “Don’t you think it’s rude to throw away a gift, my lady?” A steady, deep voice shattered the silence, a voice that belonged to a man whose chest pressed against her back. She was used to people feeling entitled to handling her, touching her how they wanted without bothering to ask, but she wasn’t used to having it happen with no one else around to stop them. She froze, her breath shaking as every worst possible outcome of this encounter went through her mind.  “You were so noisy a moment ago, I didn’t know it was possible for you to be this silent,” the man grumbled, gripping her wrist tighter and turning her to face him with little effort. She took in the sight of the man as she came face to face with him. He couldn’t have been much older than 35, dressed in finery that made him look like he belonged among the halls of nobles back in the city and not the wilds they were in now. Neatly cut, shoulder length hair the color of black coffee fell over a conventionally attractive face as he looked down on the child who was doing her best to hide the fact that she was shaking. Despite his annoyance with her sudden silence, he was smirking down at her, a knowing look in his eye. “Well? You called me. How can I be of service?” “What’s rude is going around and grabbing young women at your leisure,” Lillianna's confrontational stance softened as Milil's laughter filled the forest. She watched the god with a mixture of frustration and curiosity. Her azure eyes met his, challenging him to continue laughing. “You think yourself a woman? How charming,” he scoffed and let go of her. As soon as Lillianna was free she pulled back and put distance between the stranger and her. “A tenday ago, I may have agreed with you. But now I’m wondering if I’ve misjudged you, Miss Portyr. So quick to toss out a god’s blessing.” “So, you do know me,” she paused, setting her anger aside for a moment. “Me and everyone in Baldur’s Gate who isn’t living under a rock. And, as hard as it is to believe, I think you know me,” he chuckled warmly, holding out his hand, “let me see it.” She didn’t have to ask what he was looking for as she put the ring into his hand. “You are Milil then? The Lord of Song? Really, actually? I didn’t even know you existed until-” “Really, actually, and completely me. Can you say the same?” He interrupted her, lifting his eyes from the ring to look at her instead. The look of confusion and reluctance on her face was amusing to him as she considered her response. “I am… I think more so than I was a tenday ago,” despite her best effort to keep a confident tone, the truth was that she was rather unsure. She had spent so long being what others demanded her to be that she wasn’t really certain she had ever been herself. Even now as she made attempt after attempt to shake the wants and judgment of her tutors, her audience, and noble society itself, the terror of losing everything or being seen as less than perfect had caused her to slip back into old habits. She was once more bending on hand and knee to force herself into a mold that would accommodate others ideas of who she was supposed to be. The god watched her grapple with her own thoughts for a moment, before holding up the ring between two fingers, sliding it back and forth to let the stone catch the sun, glimmering as color peeked through the pearly white stone. “A tenday? No, I disagree. A tenday ago, I witnessed a young woman shatter all preconceived notions about her while performing on stage in front of an audience of at least a hundred. I saw a young woman who finally stopped giving others everything they desired and instead began to give herself a little grace.” He slipped the ring into his pocket, “Now, all I see is the same little girl who was so quick to give up on herself. If a tenday was all it took for you to be cowed back into contorting yourself just to keep others happy, then I think my time is better spent elsewhere.”  Milil’s words hit hard. Lillianna almost couldn’t speak, but something didn’t seem right. As he began to walk away, the god almost hesitated. His words didn’t seem genuine. There was a reason he had made himself known to her. Her stunned silence broke as she managed to croak out a few cracked words, hoping to keep his attention. “It’s not that simple.”  The god halted in his tracks. He didn't look at her but waited for her to continue. “It’s not that easy. You say I’m contorting myself, but I don’t even know who I am. How could I when I was only ten when people started deciding who I was for me. I was ten when I had to start taking into account every single opinion about how I sang, what I sang, how I dressed, acted, walked, stood,” her earlier anger was resurfacing once more, “I was ten, TEN, when people told me to start losing weight, to wear make-up and heels only to be told months later that I was growing up too fast and should wear flats and gain a few pounds instead. I was twelve when people started to sexualize me, I was thirteen when they started to act on their desires despite me being a child.” She was no longer trying to control the shaking now, she couldn’t even if she wanted to. “So tell me, oh great Lord of Song, tell me what right you have to say this isn’t who I am when I wouldn’t even know myself if I looked at her in the mirror! I never even got a chance to be whoever in the hells myself is supposed to be; I have no baseline to compare to. I have no way of knowing if I'm making progress or if I'm stuck in tar, sinking deeper into the inky depths of endless expectations, no matter how hard I try to claw out." She began to pace around the forest floor as if her temper would cause her to combust if she didn’t move to release the energy, “And even if I did know who I was, who would like her? Am I confident? Then I’m a bitch. Am I demure? Then I am boring. Am I opinionated? Then shut up, no one cares. And if I’m not then I’m not paying enough attention to the world around me. If I am sexy and bold, I am told to tone it down. If I am modest, I’m told to show some skin because god forbid someone come to watch me perform for the music I put my time and energy and soul into crafting and not because they want something good to look at in order to fill some sick fantasy in their head. So, how- HOW am I supposed to be anybody when everyone I could possibly be is never going to be enough?!” Finally, her relentless pacing came to a halt and she turned to look at him. Every breath she took was heavy now as she stifled her sobs. Even so, she couldn’t hold back her tears. It took her a moment to realize that she had just screamed at someone who could potentially ruin her more than any gossiping patriar could. Milil rubbed his brow as he slowly faced her once more. Maybe this was a mistake, he should have waited until she was older. “I-I’m sorry, I’m just so… tired,” sixteen years old and she was already finding life more fatiguing than it was worth, “I thought that if I wrote my own music, if I could express myself in a way that others found palatable, maybe the constant scrutiny would stop if they realized I’m not just some doll. And for a day or two after that performance, it seemed like it did stop and it felt good. It felt so good. I felt heard, I felt seen, I felt like finally I could speak my mind. But it didn’t take much longer for me to realize that it’s not that easy. I find myself wondering if I can’t live up to the person people want me to be, should I even be living at all.” If he waited until she was older, it would be too late for both of them, “So… you’re just going to give up?”  “Yes,” she answered with a stubborn tone and a soft pout, causing him to roll his eyes. “Don’t you think it is more exhausting to constantly have to satisfy everyone? Sure, you can make good money that way, but your soul will suffer for it.” He stepped forward and took the ring from his pocket, offering it back to her. “‘Listen to the world around you as well as filling it with your own sound,’” he quoted his own teachings, words that hadn’t been heard in a long time, before reaching out and wiping a lingering tear from her cheek, “as much as I enjoy the attention, I did not respond to your call simply because I could.” That infuriating smirk was back. Lillianna’s trembling hand extended out to take the ring, but she wavered. Milil sighed and took her hand, pressing it into her palm. “I have… selfish reasons for asking you to worship me, beyond my own vanity I mean. I may be more overlooked than I once was, but that does not mean you cannot benefit from having me around. Your sound, your words are just as important as any folk song that has been shoved down that pretty throat of yours. Your wants and desires are just as important as the wants and desires of your audience. And I can help you to be heard. All I ask in return is your worship.” “And what if they don’t like what I have to say?” She sniffed, her eyes trained on the wildflowers under their feet. “Not everyone is going to like you. If you want to keep your fame, I’m not going to pretend that there aren’t some concessions you are going to have to make. But you should never compromise your entire being. Besides, I think that you will find that there are people out there who need to hear what you have to say,” he closed her fingers around the ring before hooking his index finger under her chin to raise her face towards him, “start with a song, hmm? Now let’s stop crying. You're going to injure your voice.” “I’m not crying,” she muttered, mopping up a few last tears on her sleeve.  “Right, not crying,” he stood up straight, “wear that ring with pride. It is a symbol of how far you have come and how far you have to go. And as long as you have it, I will be with you.”  With a deep breath, Lillianna nodded at the god, “Thank you. I make no promises, but I’ll do my best.” Milil's smirk softened into a warm smile. "That's all I ask, my lady. 0 Comments

11/11/2023 09:21 PM  My Deepest Sympathies - Lore Building Lady Lillianna Portyr,  I once again extend my deepest sympathies for the passing of your esteemed father, Duke Dillard Portyr. The loss of such a venerable figure is not only a source of sorrow for your house but is keenly felt in the heart of every Baldurian. I hope you can find solace in the knowledge that I will do my utmost to live up to the legacy he left behind.  With the Army of the Absolute on the horizon, it is paramount that the residents of Baldur's Gate unite in backing a leader capable of resolving this conflict - namely, myself. The safety of Baldur’s Gate is out of reach as long as there are those that doubt my authority. Various esteemed organizations, including the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette, have aligned with me in garnering support from those who may still harbor uncertainties. In this crucial endeavor, I seek your assistance. An endorsement from a figure as esteemed as yourself, the daughter of one of my predecessors and a beloved figure in Baldur’s Gate, would wield considerable influence. However, I am aware that mere words may not suffice. So, I ask of you two things: Until the threat is over, you will write and perform music that uplifts the spirits of the people, emphasizing the virtues of my leadership, the Steel Watch, and the measures implemented for the city's protection. You will only write and perform these songs and none others. Whereas your father has left you unmarried and without prospects, I propose a union between us. This will not only increase my favor with Baldurians, but our wedding will also prove that even in the midst of war, life goes on. You have two weeks to respond in the affirmative. Failure to do so will lead to dire consequences, including your arrest for the murder of Duke Dillard Portyr, with a subsequent trial for treason and the penalty of hanging. I implore you to take great care in making this decision.  Anticipating your thoughtful consideration and response, Archduke Enver Gortash 0 Comments

10/30/2023 06:07 PM  Untitled Drabble - I'll get over it, I just need to be dramatic first “If you’d asked me a week ago if I believed that justice or righteousness would always win out in the end, even when the world seemed to be crashing down, I would have answered with a resounding yes. Now… I find myself unsure that justice ever existed in the first place.” “Hmm, yes. I’m sure,” the older woman spoke dismissively, but not without concern, “However, I am not sure what that has to do with not having left the estate in a tenday. Now, I am going to make the bed and you can either get up or I will make you into it, my lady.” Lillianna felt the sheets starting to be pulled out from under her, her body sliding down the mattress along with them. With a groan, she rolled off the bed and stumbled to the chair at her vanity, plopping down and laying her head on the countertop.  The mirror reflected back at her everything she didn’t want to see. Dark circles under her eyes, like the war paint of the world’s most useless soldier after weeks on the front lines. Frizzy hair, a seemingly untameable call back to her youth before she figured out how to actually care for the relentless blonde curls. Lipstick smeared across her cheek that undoubtedly also now stained the linen that the maid was currently stripping from her pillow. She propped head up on her hand, taking another moment to wallow in the pity party she had been throwing herself since the funeral. “Maybe if I just showed up to our meeting looking like this, Gortash would change his mind,” she mused half-heartedly before taking a wipe from the top of the vanity and attempting to wipe away the day-old makeup, but only managing to smear it more. “I’m not sure why you refuse him, my lady,” clean sheets rustled as the maid spread them over the mattress, “It’s not like he is unattractive. And with your father gone…” “You make it sound as though you are trying to get rid of me,” Lillianna smirked at the maid in the reflection of the mirror, but there was genuine annoyance behind the otherwise playful look. As much as she wanted to snap at her or continue to force her to bear witness to her seemingly endless depressive ramblings, as much as she wanted to scream out how Gortash had no interest in her other than as a means to boost his image and produce propaganda; she had an image to maintain. Even in her own home. “Trust me, Ada, that man is more trouble than his looks or money could ever make up for. I’ll be a hag before I marry him.”  “As glad as I am that you have your sense of humor back, be careful what you wish for,” the maid tucked the blankets as tight under the bed as she could manage, as if trying to make it more difficult for the younger woman to immediately climb back in.  “Humor? I’m nothing if not serious,” she finally managed to wipe her face clean. She wasn’t quite sure if her bare face was an improvement or not to how it had looked minutes ago. The longer she stared, the harder it was to break eye contact with her own reflection, had her eyes always been such a light shade of blue? Or had the tears simply washed away all the color in her irises. Most days, looking in the mirror was a chore that brought nothing but self doubt and loathing. She’d apply her makeup in minutes time and then spend the rest of the day relying on others to deliver the ego boost she so desperately needed.  But what was the point in vanity when there was no one to speak her confidence into existence through flattery. No one that mattered, anyways. It was so much easier to just let her own thoughts take over, consume her, until all that existed was- “My lady, are you listening to me?” Her self-indulgent melancholy would have to wait. “Of course Ada, I’ve been fixated on every word,” the obvious lie didn’t give the maid pause for a moment. “Then what is your answer?” Ada raised her eyebrow as if daring Lillianna to lie to her again. What was the last thing she had said, was it about the proposal? Or maybe a retort to her comment about becoming a hag?  “My answer is this. It is and has always been my answer. Such important life questions cannot be unraveled with a simple yes or no as life itself is not so black and white that it can be easily understood with binary thinking. I will of course need some more time to come to a conclusion, so can you check back in with me this evening?” “My lady… I asked what you would like for me to prepare for breakfast.” 0 Comments

10/10/2023 12:01 PM  Fine I’ve never met someone that I do not envy I wish I had their life, their skin, or their body Because while the gods spent days perfecting their every curve I got left behind, put together in mere hours I’m unsure if my faults are the gods’ or my own But I’m certain I wasn’t meant to live this long Died in the arms of a woman with skin of blue My body kept pushing on, when it wasn’t meant to   I’ve never met someone who didn’t look at me with envy They want my life, or my looks, or just my body But if they could actually peek into the storm in my mind They would move on in hours time I’m unsure if my faults are the god’s or my own But no one wants a woman who hasn’t fully grown Died in the arms of a man with skin of blue My body kept pushing on, when it wasn’t meant to    And how does the universe compensate for a person who wasn’t meant to survive It kicks them down at every corner, waiting patiently for them to take their own life It tells them over and over again to be grateful for what they’ve been granted Because so many have had it worse and don’t bitch about what they’ve been handed And if I’m ungrateful, then fine I’m ungrateful, I’m hateful, resigned It’s better than being helpless Weak like that girl who laid hopeless Who should have died in arms whose skin had turned blue Her body insisted on moving on, when it wasn’t meant to 0 Comments

10/09/2023 09:01 PM  And if I should survive... A creek of a door, a bump in the dark. Normally, these small and inconsequential sounds would have slipped into the night without any recognition from the slumbering inhabitants of the home. Normally, Lillianna would have slept right through the distant sound of shattering glass. But for whatever reason, possibly the growing tension in the city as the the Army of the Absolute marched closer or her own anxieties about the unsettling disappearances of her father’s colleagues, she slept light. Light enough that the thump of something heavy falling to the floor downstairs caused her to shoot upright in bed. The quick change in elevation caused her head to spin and she wanted nothing more than to lie back down and return her slumber, but something was nagging at the back of her mind, pulling her from the bed and into her slippers. She wrapped her rope around her, carefully creeping out the bedroom door and down the flight of stairs at the end of the hallway. As soon as her feet exchanged the carpet of the steps for the wood of the first floor, she was immediately assaulted with a metallic, slightly sweet smell that could not be mistaken for anything other than blood. One more step, then another, following the scent to the front room, stopping only when she heard a voice. “Really, did you think I actually cared? That I loved you? You were never more than a means to an end. Protection, shelter, money,” the strangely familiar voice spoke out. She continued to listen, trying to place the voice. “But I’ve grown tired of your constant leeching off the money I’ve worked so hard to make myself. You’ve only ever held me back, father,” there it was. That word was all she needed to realize where she had heard that voice before. It was her own. It took every ounce of courage for her to peek around the corner and into the front room, just in time to watch herself plunge a knife into her father’s neck. He sputtered and gasped, reaching out for his daughter’s hand only to receive a kick to the chest that sent him falling backwards onto the floor. It was obvious from the several wounds across his chest that whoever was now standing above her father’s corpse had already jabbed the knife several times into his body before delivering the final blow. They had taken their time, savored every plea and groan. Lillianna’s own face was grinning madly as she leaned over and extracted the knife, cleaning the blood off on the dead man’s beard before sheathing it once more. Only then did the glamour that was concealing the person’s true identity begin to shed away.  Lillianna gasped, quickly covering her mouth when she realized the mistake she had made in doing so. With an eerie slowness, the woman turned her head in Lillianna’s direction, bone white eyes making contact with the young woman’s own. She held her gaze for a moment before offering Lillianna a sinister smile, boring into her mind a memory that would not soon leave her. The scars along her face, pallid skin, and black lips of this stranger would haunt Lillianna’s dreams in the years to come and the killer knew it. Without a word, the killer turned on her heels and left through the same broken window she had entered through.  For a moment, there was nothing. Lillianna was silent, not a thought in her skull. It was too much for her to process and her brain seemed to shut down. But that same nagging feeling that had dragged her from bed was now pulling her into the room and to her father’s side at a rushing speed. With trembling hands, she cradled his broken body against her chest as if it would somehow bring him back to life. But it was an impossible wish. The realization of what she had lost washed over her like a torrential wave. And not just the realization of what she had lost, but the realization that her father died with the belief that his own daughter was the killer and furthermore that she never held any love for him. And the realization that twice now she had found her parents lifeless bodies in her hands and twice now she was completely alone. Tears cascaded down her face, mingling with the warm crimson that now stained her nightgown and hands. The room was filled with an excruciating silence, broken only by her anguished sobs and the weight of her despair. The hours bled into one another, and the depths of Lillianna's sorrow seemed bottomless. She held her father for so long that it would take three agonizing days for the bloody reminder of what had occurred to finally give way to soap and water. Even then, she would have scrubbed so hard that her hands became numb and she began to wonder if her skin was actually stained or just red from the constant scouring. As the last vestiges of blood dissolved from her hands, a sense of catharsis washed over Lillianna. She went from feeling everything at once to feeling nothing at all within the span of a moment. The physical remnants of the horrifying event had finally been cleansed, but the emotional scars remained within her.  0 Comments

10/09/2023 08:50 PM  Full Bio CW: Sexual-assault/harassment, death/murder Lillianna Portyr was born in the year of 1466 DR in the outskirts of Neverwinter to loving parents Zander and Emma Beckett. Alongside his brother, Callidus, Zander was the co-owner of Beckett Winery, a large winery specializing in dessert wines and mead. The Beckett Estate where Lillianna grew up included not just the winery and endless rows of grapes and beehives, but also two large homes one belonging to her father and the other her uncle. As she grew up, she spent much time in the company of her older cousin Dante, a young man with flaming red hair and crimson eyes to match that was seven years her senior. They willed away the days playing pretend with wooden swords and telling each other the kinds of fantastical stories that only children can spin. Around the time she was five, another cousin was added to the bunch as Callidus adopted a young boy around the age of ten with tan skin and dark hair who had been found wandering the streets of Protector’s Enclave, Kalix.  As the children grew older, her cousin’s priorities shifted. She was still a child, but they were entering their teenage years and the games she so loved were no longer entertaining to the boys. Where they once chased each other through the halls of the winery in intense games of tag that ended in many a shattered bottle of wine, she found herself having to find ways to create her own fun all alone. This often resulted in her sitting at the piano in her family’s home, plucking discordant melodies and singing childishly crude lyrics for the ever patient staff who, while not entirely approving of the frivolous poetry she crafted around her tunes, couldn’t help but recognize that there was something about her voice that pulled their ears. Despite the cousins drifting apart, she still had her family. She never felt alone or unloved. The seemingly unbreakable bond among the family ensured her sense of security and belonging. At seven years old, that bond was shattered when Lillianna and her parents contracted a severe plague. While she came out the other end, the plague claimed the lives of her parents, taking their final breaths as they held her in their arms. The burden fell heavily on her uncle Callidus, who not only had to cope with the loss of his brother and business partner but also shoulder the responsibility of running the winery single-handedly while raising two teenage boys. He realized that he couldn’t take on another child as he would be unable to give her the attention and care she needed. In the midst of these overwhelming circumstances, a deal was reached between her uncle and the Selûnite priestesses at the Shard of the Moon. The priestesses agreed to take her in and provide her with Selûne’s nurturing guidance, raising her to be one of their own. However, the young girl was filled with fear and uncertainty, causing her to make a hasty decision—she ran away from her designated fate. Lillianna was too young to understand the decision being made. All she saw was her uncle getting rid of her at the first chance that arrived. Filled with anger, she embarked on a long and arduous journey, heading south along the Sword Coast for a year. However, it was only within the first few weeks of travel that the small amount of coin she had left with ran out and she had to devise a way to sustain herself while still traveling. Begging on the street got her some gold, but it was never enough. She began to steal, little hands finding themselves deep in the pockets of anyone who was distracted or drunk enough not to notice. It was only a few days into this venture that she misjudged a target and found herself caught by the bard whose gold purse was clutched tightly in her hand. In what was not the first kind act of her journey, and certainly not the last, the bard took pity on her and after a very thorough lecture, he gave her a tambourine and had her join him as he stood in the town’s square, playing for money. He shared with her a portion of the money they had made as well as gifting her the tambourine in exchange for a promise not to continue stealing. From there on, she began to follow his example, singing and playing the tambourine wherever she could draw a crowd in exchange for coin, food, or even a temporary place to rest for the night. Her hard work made it possible to survive, her undeniable and growing talent made it possible for her to thrive. After a year’s trek down the High Road and the Trade Way, Lillianna eventually made it to Baldur’s Gate where she continued to showcase her talent as a street performer. Despite her tattered garments and tangled hair, she was able to draw a crowd that rivaled the sizes of those she had been able to attract in the towns or cities she had wandered through before. This was enough incentive for her to stay, at least for now. It was within the bustling streets of Baldur’s Gate that then Grand Duke Dillard Portyr, one of the Council of the Four, first heard tales of a young girl with a remarkable voice, captivating audiences in the more impoverished districts. Intrigued by the whispers, Dillard ventured into the depths of Baldur’s Gate’s poorer areas, determined to find this gifted child if for nothing more than to validate that the rumors were true. When Dillard finally laid eyes upon Lillianna, he was spellbound by her talent and touched by her vulnerable circumstances. He himself had lost his wife to childbirth and the resulting daughter passed a year later. The girl in front of him now would have been the same age as her had she survived. Bright blue eyes and freckled cheeks reminded him so much of his wife, he couldn’t help but to approach her. Kneeling down to meet her at eye level, he gently grasped her tiny hand and spoke with genuine warmth, acknowledging her rare gift. He offered her a home. He offered her care and kindness. He offered to take her in and love her as his own. Trusting her instincts and sensing the sincerity in his words, Lillianna chose to accompany Duke Dillard Portyr, forever changing the course of her life. In the blink of an eye, Lillianna transformed from a street urchin into a cherished daughter of nobility. Overnight, she found herself embraced by the comforts of opulence, surrounded by attentive staff, dressed in the finest cloth. Her father summoned priests from the Unrolling Scroll, a nearby shrine dedicated to the God of Knowledge and Patron of Bards: Oghma. With her father’s intent set on nurturing her artistic abilities, her education in the arts began. She learned from the priests that the most important thing a person could possess was an idea, that knowledge was more powerful than any amount of wealth or magic, and that she should always strive to learn as much as she could. They taught her to write, to act, to tell stories. The priests connected her to a tutor with a vast knowledge of music who helped her to polish the raw talent she already possessed. The young girl's journey had taken an unexpected turn, leading her to a life where her passion for music and storytelling would find boundless opportunities for growth and refinement. At the tender age of ten, just over two years after being adopted into her new home, Lillianna stepped onto the grand stage. While the venue of her performances had changed from the ruddy streets to a crowded theater, what had not changed was her ability to captivate an audience from the moment she opened her mouth to sing. In what seemed like an instant, she became a sensation, her fame spreading like wildfire throughout Baldur’s Gate and beyond. She was the child every patriar dreamed of having and the child that every patriar’s son or daughter wished of being.  Yet, beneath the dazzling facade of success, Lillianna began to sense a void in her life. Although she adored singing and thrived in the limelight, she yearned for genuine connections with her peers who seemed to scorn her and dismiss her as egoistic. Meanwhile, the young artist began to feel trapped as she realized that those who adored her didn’t actually know her at all. She was left believing that she was loved solely for her voice and the persona she had cultivated over the past few years, rather than for her true self. Relentless demands and expectations placed upon her by adoring fans took their toll, wearing down her spirit over time. Lose weight, gain weight, tame the frizz in your hair, sing a different song, don’t be too opinionated, but don’t be boring, you’re too young to wear heels and makeup, you’re too short to wear flat shoes, cover your freckles, cover your shoulders, don’t be so modest, we’re here for a show and a good time. Give it to us. Over and over again the words of others seemed to invade her mind so pervasively that she couldn’t even hear her own thoughts. All the while, Lillianna was transitioning into her teenage years which meant facing the inherent challenges and insecurities that accompany adolescence, including the beginnings of unwanted advances from men and women around her alike. When Lillianna turned fifteen, a pivotal moment arrived in her life as she made a resolute decision—she informed her father that she would no longer perform, that she was finished with music altogether. Trying to understand her emotions and fears, Dillard sat her down and assured her that he would support her in any path she chose. However, he was not about to allow her to give up on herself so quickly. He proposed a compromise. Instead of continuing to learn the folk songs and classics that she had been studying over the past few years, he would hire another tutor. This one would teach her how to write her own music so that she could show herself onstage and not simply be a vessel for others' work. Embracing this unexpected opportunity, Lillianna delved into her studies with the new tutor, an Oghmanyte bard that seemed all too familiar. He taught her to craft her own music, exploring the creative process along with the nitty gritty of musical theory itself.  A year passed after she vanished from the spotlight and, now sixteen, Lillianna made a triumphant return to the stage. This time, she presented only the music she had composed herself. These songs were her fighting attempt to force the audience to confront the idea that she was a flawed individual who did indeed exist even when she was out of their sight. Filled with trepidation, she wondered how the audience would react to this new style, these heartfelt lyrics drawn from the depths of her own soul. The weight of expectation hung heavy upon her shoulders as so many came to hear her sing the folk tunes they adored. She was shaking as she stepped onto stage, but as the stage lights illuminated her, Lillianna discovered a newfound strength within herself. This was her own music, a reflection of her truest self, and it allowed her to perform with a raw power she had never before tapped into before now. The concert was far from flawless, but so was she. And while the patriar audience responded well to her music, the new style and themes in her music would soon catch the ears of those within the lower classes as well. Applause roared as the final curtain fell. Lillianna found herself in a rare moment of solitude, away from the clamor of the audience and her accompanist already gone. It was just her, the stage, and the piano behind her. All she could hear was her head pounding with the sound of her heart and then the rustle of something behind her. Turning her gaze toward the instrument, she discovered a sight that took her breath away—a simple ring set with an opal between metal carvings of two golden hollyphants. It seemed to be placed with care on the black and white keys, radiating a soft light meant only for her. She looked up, desperately trying to find who had left it, but she was alone. It wouldn’t be until a week later, during a meeting with her bardic tutor, that she would learn of the existence of a lesser god known as the Lord of Song; Milil. He explained that Milil would often conjure images of two dancing hollyphants when he approved of an artist’s work. This ring was a profound acknowledgment: a recognition of her pain, a symbol of her growth, a reminder of her promise to honor her own voice and experiences, and an understanding that there was still work to be done.  As Lillianna's music evolved and matured, so too did she. She was now an entrenched figure in the hearts and minds of the people of Baldur’s Gate. However, as Lillianna navigated her celebrity status and the responsibilities that accompanied her noble rank, she also found herself grappling with the challenges of her position. At eighteen, suitors and suitresses began vying for her hand in marriage, the proposals coming almost immediately as if they had been waiting for the day she was no longer a child. These romantic pursuits added yet another layer of complexity to her life, testing her patience and resolve. There seemed to be a switch among her fans as well, their own desires and expectations of her once more began to take precedence over her music despite every attempt she had made to stop this phenomena from recurring. Once creepy comments on her body or appearance suddenly became downright lewd, and yet simply because of her age they were somehow more socially acceptable.  Lillianna always endeavored to treat her fans with kindness and gratitude, recognizing their role in her success. However, the darker sides of fame seemed to be growing—stalkers and fans who crossed boundaries. In the face of their intrusive behavior, she felt helpless and unsure of how to protect herself. It didn’t take long for her to come to the conclusion that she couldn’t. Barely six months past her eighteenth birthday, she found herself at the mercy of a so-called fan as they violated her and then left her in an alley with nothing but torn clothes barely clinging to her body and the sound of her own weeping.  Shame, guilt, and fear kept her from informing anyone of the incident, choosing instead to carry the memory alone. Terrified of a repeat event, she convinced herself that it was better to just give in to the advances of others rather than fight them. She told herself that at least then, she would have some control instead of none. At the very least, she was desired. But this too didn’t come without its risks. Two pregnancy scares was all it took for her to willingly subject herself to an infertility curse from a witch she had paid handsomely.  After a year of finding herself in the beds of lustful men and women, her father finally confronted her about how little she seemed to be in her own bed at night. Broken and sure of his impending anger, she finally told him of the man who had assaulted her. Her father was furious, confirming every fear she had until he explained that his fury was not aimed at her, but the situation itself. He immediately hired a bodyguard, a half-elf woman named Corina Rodi, to protect his daughter, but to also keep him updated on her activities. Corina took her place at Lillianna’s side whenever the young noble found herself unable to give the increasingly exasperated woman the slip.  Whenever she could get away though, Lillianna would find herself wandering about the Lower City and even Rivington. This put her in a position to witness the quick growth of refugees to the city as the Abolute’s Army began to drive people from their homes. She watched as the Flaming Fist she thought she once knew began to turn people in need away from the gates and instead put them into large, poorly kept, camps that ran on the mercy of donations from those who had it better off. Her noble status granted Lillianna many privileges, however she kept thinking back to the day she reached Baldur’s Gate as a child. If she had been turned away, what would have become of her? She too was once a newcomer to the city fleeing from hardship. The sight she was seeing now, the treatment of these refugees, was a source of deep discomfort and discontent. Even her father, who was typically described as a “weathercock, turning wherever the wind blew him”, had witnessed and experienced the city's sins firsthand. He grappled with his own moral dilemma that led to the creation of The Confraternity of refugee relief. The charity aimed to keep those who were rejected from Baldur’s Gate safe, even outside the city. Alongside his daughter, they began to host charity events in The Wide, beseeching the wealthy of the Upper City to donate what they could. At the age of 26, Lillianna found herself in the midst of a significant turning point when an upstart named Enver Gortash appeared on the scene. With Belynne Stelmane missing in action, the remaining three of the Council of the Four were summoned to meet this enigmatic figure, who claimed to have a proposal that could potentially change the course of their city. Gortash presented them with plans for an army of sentinels he called "The Steel Watch," asserting that it had the power to strengthen the hold of the Flaming Fist and serve as a means to protect the city. The council was intrigued by the prospect of bolstering their military might, preparing for the possibility of the descent of the Army of the Absolute on the city. Two of the remaining three counselors expressed their eagerness to proceed with the deal, seeing it as a necessary measure for maintaining control and security. However, there was one dissenting voice among the council—Duke Dillard Portyr. He held reservations about this newfound weapon, perceiving its potential for danger. Dillard staunchly believed that this weapon could be too easily turned against their own people given the Flaming Fist’s current habit of doing so already in the name of “protection”. Driven by his unwavering sense of caution, he refused to endorse the deal, leading to a lack of unanimous consent among the council. Consequently, the agreement collapsed, unable to move forward under the prevailing laws. Gortash, consumed by his ambitions and unscrupulous nature, was not above resorting to foul play to achieve his desires. He had already planted a tadpole in the mind of Duke Ravengard, so it really wasn’t above him to go even further. Driven by a ruthless determination, he sought to eliminate the one man who stood in the way of his nefarious plans. It was a night etched in darkness, as clouds blocked out the light of the moon, when Lillianna was abruptly roused from her slumber by a deafening crash emanating from the front entrance of her home. Sensing the weight of something terrible unfolding, she mustered her courage and silently crept down the stairs, navigating the dimly lit halls until she reached the front room. A chill crawled up her spine, causing goosebumps to ripple across her skin, as the air grew heavy with an unsettling presence. A metallic tang pervaded the room, lingering in the atmosphere like a harbinger of tragedy. Summoning every ounce of caution, Lillianna peered around the wall that separated her from the devastating scene. There, sprawled upon the floor, lay her father, his life extinguished by a cruel knife plunged into his chest multiple times before finally landing in his neck. The crimson tide of his blood seeped into the cracks of the hardwood, marking the place where her world shattered. Overwhelmed by confusion and disbelief, Lillianna's gaze was drawn to the figure standing over her father's lifeless body. Lillianna saw herself, her own body covered in blood, standing with a wicked grin on her face and radiating an otherworldly aura of cruelty. Fear mingled with a sense of unease as Lillianna's eyes fixated on the obscured intruder. In that moment, Lillianna became an unwilling witness to the embodiment of evil that had infiltrated her home. Time seemed to stand still as she tried to comprehend the merciless act that had stolen her father's life. With bated breath, she watched as the intruder retrieved the bloodstained blade, meticulously cleaning it before sheathing it upon her person. With shock, horror, and an instinctual need for self-preservation all woven together, Lillianna instinctively brought her trembling hand to cover her quivering lips, preventing any gasp or cry from escaping. But she had already been noticed. With an eerie slowness, as if relishing the effect it would have on her, the intruder dismissed the spell behind the disguise and turned her head to look at her. Revealed before her were eyes bright white as a bone, vivid and piercing in their intensity and matching the pallor of the intruder’s skin. Scars marred her face, a testament to a violent past, adding an element of menace to her already foreboding presence. Time seemed to grind to a halt as Lillianna's wide eyes locked with those of her father's murderer. The weight of her gaze bore into her soul, causing her blood to run cold and her body to seize with terror. It was a gaze that seemed to hold a twisted mix of recognition and hostility, as if she knew her on some deeper level. The tendrils of familiarity intertwined with the dread coursing through her veins, leaving her paralyzed in a state of vulnerability. Just as abruptly as she had revealed herself, the strange woman hastily turned on her heels, her departure marked by an unsettling silence. Through the shattered window that had served as her entry point, she vanished into the night, leaving Lillianna to grapple with the harrowing tragedy she had just witnessed. In the aftermath of the chilling encounter with the scarred woman, Lillianna's world came crashing down around her. She rushed to her father's side, his lifeless form becoming a haunting reflection of the vibrant man he once was. With trembling hands, she cradled his broken body against her chest, desperately clinging to the hope that she could somehow will life back into him. But it was an impossible task. The realization washed over her like a torrential wave, extinguishing any flicker of hope that had dared to persist. She sat there, grief-stricken and consumed by the enormity of her loss. Her emotions were punctuated by the persistent thought in the back of her mind that her father died thinking his daughter was his own killer. Tears cascaded down her face, mingling with the warm crimson that stained her nightgown and hands. The room was filled with an eerie silence, broken only by her anguished sobs and the weight of her despair. The hours bled into one another, and the depths of Lillianna's agony seemed bottomless. The blood that had marred her hands, a macabre testament to the brutality that had unfolded before her eyes, clung to her skin with stubborn tenacity. Despite her futile attempts to cleanse herself of the gruesome reminder, the blood stains seemed to have seeped into her very being, imprinting upon her skin. Days passed, Lillianna carried the weight of her father's blood on her hands—a visceral reminder of the unfathomable circumstance that had befallen her. Three agonizing days slipped by before the crimson stains gradually began to fade, yielding to the persistent efforts of scrubbing and scrubbing until her skin felt numb. As the last vestiges of blood dissolved from her hands, a sense of catharsis washed over Lillianna. The physical remnants of the horrifying event had finally been cleansed, but the emotional scars remained within her. With Dillard's absence, the creation of the Steel Watch proceeded unhindered, and the construction of the factory commenced. The air was thick with anticipation as Baldur's Gate eagerly awaited the arrival of the powerful sentinels that would bolster their strength. Soldiers would now possess the capacity to reshape the tides of battle due to the backing of a metal army. Gortash was bestowed with the title of “lord” for his contributions to the safety of Baldur’s Gate. But “lord” wasn’t enough for him. He was far from content observing from the sidelines as his grand scheme unfolded. As more and more of his pawns were put into play, he was granted the role of Archduke and replaced the Council of the Four. — — — — — — — — Throughout the past few years of their deepening connection, Corina, Lillianna’s bodyguard, had listened intently as she shared countless stories of her cousins and uncle in Neverwinter. Though Lillianna's childhood memories were hazy and fragmented, some disjointed memories of her lost family lingered within her, their essence pulsating faintly in her mind’s eye. She longed to remember what she had lost, but the details eluded her grasp. The names of her cousins, her uncle, and even her original last name had been shrouded by the mists of time. Yet, intermittent flashes of memory, like flickering embers, unveiled glimpses of two boys arguing with each other as a scruffy man stood nearby, his deep laugh resonating through the room. Driven by a fervent desire to alleviate Lillianna's sorrow, a sense of duty for her safety, and a friendship that had developed over the course of the past years in her service, Corina embarked on a desperate quest for answers. She delved into extensive research, determined to piece together the fragments of Lillianna's forgotten past. Hours turned into days as she tirelessly scoured records and archives, seeking any clue that might illuminate the shadows of Lillianna's origins. And finally, a glimmer of hope emerged from the depths of her investigation. Corina stumbled upon information that led her to believe she had uncovered traces of Lillianna's family lineage. With trembling hands and a mixture of excitement and apprehension, Corina approached Lillianna, armed with the name Dante Beckett and a bottle of white wine. She urged her friend to embark on a journey to Neverwinter, where the possibility of reconnecting with her long-lost family awaited. Corina painted vivid pictures of emotional reunions, emphasizing the potential for a renewed sense of belonging and understanding that no longer seemed to exist for her in Baldur’s Gate. But Lillianna, weighed down by the burden of loss and uncertainty, hesitated. Time pressed forward, and Lillianna found herself attending her father's belated funeral. The circumstances surrounding his death were shrouded in mystery, prompting a lengthy investigation that delayed the ceremony by several weeks. Given her father's esteemed position as the once Grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate, the funeral was a grand affair befitting his status. Nobility, politicians, citizens, friends and enemies alike came to witness their beloved leader be laid to rest. However, amidst the solemnity, an unsettling observation gnawed at Lillianna's consciousness. As she scanned the crowd, her gaze fell on Archduke Gortash who seemed to be staring right back at her. Next to him, a woman with piercing white eyes stood partially obscured by a thin black veil to help conceal her identity. Lillianna knew those eyes though, even through dark mesh. She couldn’t seem to get them out of her head. And the woman’s place next to Archduke Gortash seemed to finally connect the pieces she had been trying to make sense of the past few weeks.There was no one that wanted her father gone more than the Archduke. Gortash was connected to her father’s murder. Fueled by her fury and the love she held for her father, Lillianna confronted Archduke Gortash after the funeral. She raged against his relentless pursuit of power and condemned his damned Steel Watch. She demanded answers and accountability for the life lost and the suffering endured. But he just gave a soft chuckle and summed her anger up to a single word: “cute”. It was only days later that a letter arrived with Lord Gortash’s intentions to take her as his bride alongside the threat of the gallows for murdering her own father if she refused. This wasn’t just one more way to toy with her already broken will. Her fame, her popularity, and her penchant for writing music would make her the perfect propaganda machine to change the hearts of any who were still unsure of his rule. The suffering she would endure at his side was simply an entertaining bonus, as far as he was concerned.  Unfettered melancholy pressed heavily upon Lillianna's heart. Death surrounded her, first her father and now claiming the lives of starving refugees and Fist soldiers who didn’t know any better. Each loss struck her like a blow, a relentless reminder of the devastation wrought by the irresponsible actions of their new leader. In the face of such tragedy, what was left of Lillianna’s courage wavered, and she found solace in Corina's persistent plea for her to leave the city, not only to seek her long-lost family in Neverwinter but also to escape the impending violence of the Absolute’s Army that loomed on the horizon. With a heavy heart and a burdened soul, Lillianna teetered on the edge of the same decision she had faced over a decade ago: did she stay and fight against the future that had been designated for her by those who controlled her life or did she run? 0 Comments

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