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⠀⠀mdni.⠀⠀
Joined October 2026
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peaceful sleep was inadequate for the profane receptacle that was the dark urge, so much so that it rewarded his negligence in spilling blood with a spasm and choler fermenting in the pit of his stomach⎯⎯⎯ 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚.
xn--oba.xn--6ii
among the trees. his pale, unreadable gaze met the silver's. the pause was uneasy, endless. “...leave,” his hand trembled, hoping she couldn't see; 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. “...i won't say it twice.” what if
xn--oba.xn--6ii
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒖𝒓𝒈𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌. the bloody-minded urge churns in his marrow, contained by an increasingly thin will. the otherworldly command disturbing him enough to make his eardrums pound. suddenly, zaros'
xn--oba.xn--6ii
consciousness is woven in and out of, and as his cerebral sulci part to reveal a retained memory, the words emerge from the darkness of his recent amnesia, from someone who says: “precious fledgling, 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵.”
xn--oba.xn--6ii
the dark urge's obsessions, usually foul, find no feast here. no, his focus hooks on the ceruleans: there are no grotesque dreams of plunging into the orbital cavities, and instead, his impulses did not 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓.
xn--oba.xn--6ii
in all of zaros's amnesic and death-dealing existence, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 a hand had not moved to commit irreversible damage. such unpredictability caused his nostrils to flare; the only thing that altered his glacial face.
xn--oba.xn--6ii
no detail would escape the rotten one's notice⎯⎯⎯ the dropping ears, the discoloration under the eyes, and the golden gaze settled upon the diary entry he had opened. marquette was sweet. 𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕, as the unspeakable
xn--oba.xn--6ii
thing within zaros compelled him to think. but that wasn't what he thought. something icy stirred in the dark urge's throat. “...you have not.” eventually, he stepped forward and stopped before the man. “... you have something on your mind.”
xn--oba.xn--6ii
his armour-plating was torn by a cut in the rib area⎯⎯⎯ zaros's conjurations were numbing the smaller bruises on the opposite side of the open gash. his countenance hardened slightly in pain before assuming a blank expression.
xn--oba.xn--6ii
@bloodhonourr
the enciphered tir'su on slate is incomprehensible to the ears of faerûn's common walkers, as is the dark urge himself. the concealed heretical content matters little to him, but it's his 𝘨𝘪𝘵𝘩 companion that comes to wretched
xn--oba.xn--6ii
