StrongBear

The throne he sat in, the crown he wore - empty and broken A summons arrives, distance traveled, a meeting held. Many words spoken, the back and forth, the feeling of unease and dread filling the air. The man in question at the center of attention - a failure, one after another. Truths and lies mixing together, the world of the unknown slowly coming to light. His crown falters, the devious grin he once wore turns to shame and defeat. The smart Princeling, one so cunning and deceitful caught in his own web of lies. The man in question, one who turned away, the one who thought he fooled the world, all it took was one fatal misstep. Haldir. Twas a normal day or one apparent, tinkering in his lab as he usually does as of late, closed off from the world, unread mail piling up along with countless missives. Severn, his familiar, arrived with another bundle of letters, filling through before he voiced something of importance. A meeting. The only letter to meet his pale gaze, his brows furrow. He collects his belongings, packing his lab for the potential of a just in case. He summons two to travel with him, and they set off. Each city they passed, fear and dread pulled heavily over his countenance, even if they were normal occurrences of his day to day, something was different about such, it pulled him elsewhere. They arrive, he knocks. The conversation starts off with friendly banter, a brief moment of catch up. Then the mood shifts, the candles start to flicker, the light in the room dims. A few more words of a brief exchange. A solemn nod was given before he was forced in the center, all eyes, there and unseen, were on the DreadPrince. The hellish flame that once resided in the DreadPrince’s soul - was finally snuffed

Voices, these voices, I hear them, and when they talk I'll follow, I'll follow, I'll follow what they say. A deal has been struck; two lives spared, one taken. “Haldir, why are you here?” The familiar druidess inquires to the young ‘ame. “...I’m not sure” The rain never seemed to stop, just the constant pitter-patter of droplets hitting the rooftops, soaking the cloth between armor plates of the denizens of Numendil. Something was coming. The voices, the chaos. The voices started again, the ‘ame drowning out the world around him to focus on them. This time, the voices were different; they wanted something, something more than what Haldir is. “Guide the Princess. Stick close to her.” There was slight hesitation in his movements, scared? No—fearful; for this was no peasant, but one who could certainly cost him his head. Alas, the he follows the order given, finding the Princess, and sticking to her side. Then chaos erupted; first it was the dark mist creeping from the Kingswood, then those atop and below the battlement were met with horrid creatures, and the fight began. Conversation in the square continued, calming in a sense, keeping the woman’s focus, gaining her trust in such a brief time. As the fight poured into the square, the cultists were focused on those who were nearby, it was their time to escape. “Follow me.” He spoke under his breath. He takes the woman’s hand, guiding her through the fight, deeper into the city. Rounding a corner, then another—before coming to a location that was previously picked not by him, but by the other. The voices in the elf’s head drowned out the screams, the cries for help, the shouting. Another step of hesitation befell the 'ame while he continues forward, muttering beneath his breath, shaking his head. Suddenly, a bright flash of light erupts from before them, the ripping of a portal into the void to which they were both pulled into. The same sense as before, the falling, the weightlessness, abyss. “Wait, please.” He pleads. Strike after strike, piece by piece, he was struck down, over and over again. His breathing became labored and raspy, blood streaming from his nose and the corner of his maw, fighting to keep his head up. Surely this was going to end… but no, as the horror didn’t want death, it needed something. The Princess was binded and chained to the heart while the other bound and dragged away, forced to watch a ritual. “Save the Princess!” A voice shouts. Another fight erupts, those of Numendil followed, they needed to save their own. As chaos ensued, the ritual grew closer to its end, another portal of light ripping through the void. The world around Haldir grew cold, he lost the familiar feeling of eternal warmth and his vision grew distant, the sound of shouts turned to a ringing in his ears. He spares a brief glance to everything around before his head eventually falls, unconscious. He and the Princess were saved, taken…both alive but barely.

Deep within a cave unbeknownst to many, the Dreadprince suddenly wakens from his brief slumber, sweat rolling from his brow - "The first of five, more to follow." He spoke, his voice echoing off the cave walls, his gaze dancing around the shadows, "Always watching. Always listening. Never alone." He repeats over and over again, succumbing further into his own madness, his voice falling silent, just the constant twitching of his lips as the words continue.

Be at peace brother, whip it up in the kitchen and become an amazing chef. I will drag you into Overwatch matches though - you can't escape me!

Adrian, the friend who died many years ago, tackles the familiar man upon his entrance to the seven skies, "Aha! Finally you made it, we need to drink and banter like old times. It's been far too long."

Just at the gates of the Seven Skies, the familiar man once known as Adrian greets his sister with a small smile, extending a hand out to her, "Well, finally you get to join me. Now you have much to tell me with all that I've missed. Come come, plus mutter and vater would like to see you."

The Fallen Angel, favored to the one of Dread; lingers in the shadows, watching the fear and dread around him spread with a devilish smile resting 'pon his visage.

With every step that one takes, Their shadow follows closely behind. What kind of shadow follows you? The dooming question that no one ever asks, The fear that lingers in the forefront of one's mind, The unknown that causes the fear to fester and grow. What kind of shadow follows you? You may ask anyone that question, The responses will always be the same, I don’t know but surely I know it’s good. What kind of shadow follows you? If you ask me that question, My response will be, The one you should be afraid of, Because I’m afraid of my own shadow. Not because I don’t know what it is, Because I know the power that it holds. I know the pain and terror that it can do. For my soft heart will be my down fall, If I don’t own up to my own shadow. What if I allow myself to finally let go? If I allow myself to let go, Then the world around me burns, If I let go I will have nothing else to keep me grounded, All that I loved will turn away from me. Those who saw me as perfect, Will hunt me down for what I’ve become. They won’t see the realization of what’s happening, Until it's too late. Perhaps it’s best if I remain the way I am, The soft hearted fool. The fool that will eventually turn, Turn on those who loved me. Then themselves will become nothing more than just another person, And I will mean nothing to them.

Mhmm debating