drywall

I've seen quite a few naz'therak who have about 15 or 20 kids, all cursed (i mean, how do they even find that many people to play those cursed kids in the first place? crazy work). Usually, I think, it's just handed out to their friends who want to play a tiefling, and a lot of the time they don't follow the redlines or lore of them being abysmal horrors beyond comprehension and make them super models giving your soul up and having it literally burnt to hell and back should have way more consequences on the body. it makes sense. you're damning yourself. having one cursed child, alongside the trauma that would induce physically and mentally? It would make sense to end up infertile. but knowing the community, they'd really want to be able to have a few kids, so instead of completely infertile id suggest a set limit personally

Absolutely loving the way transparency is being handled here

R

Having a cursed soul that's tied to the hells should give you more physical ailments than just the malices. Like, infertility, as an example. Or a decreased chance of having kids. One Naz'therak having nearly 18-20 accepted cursed children within the span of 6 months is absolutely insane.

Fish.

─── ༻♡༺ ─── Emberlyn’s leaf-green eyes drifted over the words she’d written, skimming the pages of her tome. She frowned at the idle doodles scattered in the margins—little sketches born from restless thoughts. Since arriving on the new continent, she’d shut herself away from her family. The last argument had been explosive, the kind that left everything in pieces. Afterward, she withdrew into her garden, where silence was easier to bear than apologies that would never come. She rose from the bench, her gaze lifting toward the apple tree overhead. The low-hanging fruit gleamed in the sunlight, but it wasn’t the apples that caught her attention. A small blue bird perched among the branches, its feathers faded with age, the blue now streaked with gray. It had been with her for years—too many, perhaps. She knew she’d have to replace it one day, retire it to rest. But Emberlyn had never been good at letting go. A letter was tied to its leg. The bird fluttered down and landed on her shoulder, its claws gripping the fabric of her dress. She untied the note carefully with her right hand, setting it on her lap for a moment to stroke the bird’s head. Letters weren’t unusual for her. But as her eyes moved over the words, something shifted. Tears welled—strange, glimmering hues that blurred the ink as they fell. The page trembled in her grasp. No wind stirred. It was her hand that shook. The paper crinkled as a sharp gasp escaped her. Her breath caught; the world tilted. Grief struck her like fire—spreading from her chest, burning through her throat, hollowing her stomach. The weight of reality pressed down until she thought she might collapse beneath it. Wings fluttered beside her as the startled bird took flight, but even that felt distant. She was already on her knees beside the bench, the letter clenched in her fist. Loose strands of silver-blonde hair slipped from her bun, veiling her face from the world. All she could see was the grass. The dirt. The letter. Anruthion. Her eyes scanned it again and again, searching for some hidden jest, some “got you!” scribbled in the margins. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe a cruel joke. He wouldn’t be that cruel… would he? Her chest constricted. She couldn’t breathe. The letter pressed against her stomach as a sob tore free, violent and broken. Her brother. Anruthion. The only one who had ever reached out. The only one who checked on her after she’d vanished from home. The only one who challenged her, pushed her to grow. The only one who ever truly felt like he cared. He couldn’t be gone. Not him. Her heart refused to accept it. Shakily, she forced herself upright. Was he really gone? Her steps came without thought, her breath catching with each one. The last time they’d spoken, they’d fought. He’d told her he’d already accepted her death—that she wasn’t his little sister anymore. Not the one he remembered. She’d wanted to talk to him again. Just once more. Her breath hitched, and she ran. Each step hurt. Her lungs burned, her vision blurred. Emotion tore through her like a storm she couldn’t escape. She’d never been good at accepting death. Her boots struck marble, echoing down the hallways lined with old busts and cluttered decorations. Colors—white, red, green—blurred past as she ran. When she reached her room, she twisted the doorknob and stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind her with the stump of her left arm. Every emotion struck like a serpent, each one biting deeper than the last. Every memory, every fight, every word they’d thrown at each other crashed over her in relentless waves. She could almost drown in them. She collapsed onto her bed, the letter still clutched to her chest. The hours bled into night, and the shadows grew long, then dark. By the time dawn came again, Emberlyn hadn’t slept. She stayed in her chambers, alone with her grief, shielding herself from a world that had grown too cruel to face. ─── ༻♡༺ ───

This was familiar to the Bishop. The agony portrayed, the rot which consumed, the interpretive dreams which had only ever shown ruin in its rawest form. He knew what they meant, he could only guess what was coming. Here, dancing between the world of knowing and not; A puppet on strings for the hells which consumed waking thoughts and sleepless nights. The ladder rungs called, an echo in the dark long-since ignored. He’d been stagnant, waiting. Yet now was the time. Blood will spill.

The girl's single green hue flitted aside toward her barred bedroom window, eyeing the little blue bird that had perched itself upon the ivory sill. She was silent aside from a sniffle and a small wheeze for a few minutes. Watching as it chirped to get her attention though remained ready to deliver something it held. With a certain weariness which dragged her down, something worse than gravity or grief, she pulled herself from the bed she'd cried in. Emberlyn crossed the room to that sole window, reaching through the bars to collect the missive which the bird had brought. Silently, still, did she unfurl it and read. With those words written and read, the guilt of having tried to fix it and being unable to do more, caused more tears of blue and pink to streak down her cheeks. A murmured breath was had, a curse really, one that would reach those who deserved it. Soon. The blue bird was waved away, and she returned to her weeping within the darkness of her room.

"Vhat ist zhis?" A curious child queried, the jingling of her boots sounding as she stepped forth to collect that missive from where it was pinned. Her eyes scanned over the entirety of the paper, soaking in every detail. Every letter. Every word. The colors included. Despite all that was written, every thought-provoking sentence and the context of what was inked, the weight of the meaning behind the missive and what it meant for those who accepted it, she could only say four words. "Ich can nicht read."

Pierce eyed the missive as he stepped into the undisclosed town, eyes narrowing upon the paper as it was skimmed over. There was a mysterious clucking sound which came from the rather suspicious lump beneath his shirt, something akin to indignation. "Huh, someone else must be causing problems again." The elven man crumpled the missive, stuffing it in his satchel.