#[ ❧ — interactions 》 ketheric ]

[harpershigh]

@myrkulsapxstle

Jaheira lowered herself to the ground by the fire, her movements slow, deliberate. She sat cross-legged, her back straight, facing Ketheric Thorm directly across the flames. The flickering light painted sharp shadows across her face, but it was her eyes that cut deepest — steady, piercing, and full of unspoken judgment. Her expression was carved in stone, anger tempered by a careful, calculating scrutiny. She studied him as one would study a venomous creature, searching for the vulnerable spot beneath the armor, the crack in the facade. There was no room for kindness here, only an unyielding need to understand the man who had brought so much devastation.

Understand? No. Not the right word. This man had taken too much from her to deserve her understanding now.

"Tell me, general," Jaheira said, the title drawn out with a contempt that cut like a blade. Her gaze bore into Ketheric's, unrelenting. "Do you truly believe that a single good deed can erase the years of shadows you've cast?"

Jaheira didn’t expect him to answer. She doubted he even could. Yet, she asked anyway. What was she hoping to hear? Perhaps nothing at all. Gods, the only conversation she wanted to have with Ketheric Thorm right now involved the sharp edge of her blades — or, better yet, her claws.

[harpershigh]

A 90's cartoon episode for @myrkulsapxstle

The sewers were a deathtrap. This much they knew in the moment they got there. But now... Now their situation was dire. They were knees-deep in filth, separated from the rest of the group as bhaalists circled them, their eyes glinting, their weapons ready. She stood back-to-back with Ketheric, her blades in hands, her thoughts racing through the spells she had left, the ones she hadn’t already burned in the fight. Would a Wall of Thorns slow them down enough? Or would it just make the ambush worse? What about summoning animals — a swarm of rats, maybe, if they’d even listen in this chaos? To make everything even worse, someone opened a vault, and now the water level was rising, and fast. Could she redirect the current of dejects to topple them all? Yuck, no. How could she buy them time? Every plan she considered unraveled just as quickly — too slow, too reckless, too risky. Her fingers flexed on her blades, her thoughts now drifting to Ketheric. Would he even cooperate, or would he turn on her now that they are alone? Gods, there’s no time for this! The water lapped at her thighs now, and the bhaalists were tightening their circle. Her teeth clenched, and she glanced back at Ketheric. No time for cleverness. No time for anything but brute survival.

"Enough of this!" she growled, her voice thick with frustration.

In a blur, she let the primal magic within her take over. Her form twisted, bones cracking and expanding, her figure growing massive and wild. Feathers and fur erupted along her skin, talons extending from what were once hands. An ear-splitting roar erupted from her throat as she took the form of an immense and snarling owlbear.

"Hold on!" was all she managed to growl before she swept Ketheric off his feet, tossing him onto her broad back like a sack of grain. Without hesitation, she barreled forward, claws slashing and swiping at their would-be assassins.

One leap, then another, her massive frame crashing against walls and scattering enemies as if they were nothing more than debris in her path as she barreled through the winding tunnels. Soon, the way turned into a sharp descent, and Jaheira's claws scraped uselessly against the slick, muck-coated walls of the sewer, her owlbear bulk skidding uncontrollably down the tunnel. The sound of her own momentum — a mix of growls, clawing, and the unrelenting splatter of filth — echoed around them.

Then, down ahead — a light. It pierced the gloom like a cruel joke, and her heart leapt with momentary hope. But as the exit grew closer, her eyes widened in horror. The light wasn't salvation; it was the mouth of a tunnel opening high above the Chiontar River.

Bloody hells!

The owlbear shot out of the sewer like a massive, furred cannonball, and for a split second, they were airborne. Without hesitation, she shifted mid-plummet. The massive form dissolved into her lithe, half-elven one, the force of the transformation jarring her as she shoved Ketheric free.

The freezing water hit her like a hammer, knocking the air from her lungs. She tumbled under, her limbs flailing as she fought to resurface. Her head broke through the surface, and she gasped, coughing and sputtering as she made her way to the shore.

"Bloody, blasted sewers!" she choked, spitting water. "I'm going to kill every single bhaalist for this!"

She barely manages to stand, hands braced on her knees as she gasps for air, water dripping from her hair and clothes. Her eyes dart along the shore, scanning for Ketheric. Pure practicality, of course. If he drowned or went missing, she wouldn’t want her name tied to the mess. and Isobel would never forgive her

[harpershigh]

"no proper rest may actually prove fatal at your old age, harper. and i can't have you die on me before this bloody cult is dealt with. so i ask you nicely to get some sleep, or i'll have to drown you with sleep potions one way or another. " - nine fingers

[hii, i hope this is okay, i had to send something!]

Jaheira rubbed at her eyes, fingers pressing against the sockets like she could rub away the burn, the weight, the exhaustion pressing down on her skull. But there was no time for that. No time for sleep, no time for rest. The hag was still out there, slithering through the city's cracks, and Jaheira was already late.

Her mind was sharp — had to be sharp. But her body lagged behind, slow, stiff, a half-second delay between thought and action. She wouldn’t admit it. Refused to admit it. What would she even do with the truth? Lay down and sleep while another child disappeared?

No.

Her jaw clenched as she poured over the evidence again, pages blurring for the briefest moment before she forced her focus back. The girl’s face haunted the ink, the memory of her frozen in time — too young, too small. The same age as Fig.

Jaheira’s breath hitched, and she shoved the thought away with a violent shake of her head. No. Not Fig. But it could have been. It could be if she didn’t end this.

Her heart pounded like a war drum. The hag was slipping away, vanishing into the night, and if Jaheira didn’t act now, she would do what she always did — find another child to steal.

A sudden voice made her to push back from the table, standing so fast her chair nearly toppled.

Astele.

Always Astele.

Jaheira's gaze fixed on her, eyes bloodshot, patience stretched thin as a fraying rope due to the nights spent awake. “Don’t you dare.” The words came sharp as a dagger’s edge, her voice rough from too many hours spent inquiring, planning, running. Sleep was a luxury she couldn't afford, and damn anyone who thought otherwise.

But then — gods — she actually heard what Nine-Fingers had said, and despite the tension pulling her shoulders taut, a faint, tired smirk flickered across her face. “Tch. My old age? Hah! I’m still sharper than half your crew even half-dead on my feet.”

Not an apology. Not even close. And the humour also fell flat. Jaheira cursed herself for it, and for the misplaced sharpness of her tongue, but she had no time to soften words.

“I've already checked the sewers under Bloomridge — nothing, but she left traces, just enough to taunt. The docks? Bribed a few dockworkers, found a crate matching her trade, but it was emptied before we got there. A trail leading nowhere. Which means she’s smart, but not invincible.” She exhaled sharply, rubbing at her temples, willing herself to think faster. Stay focused. “Still need to check the apothecaries — if she’s been gathering ingredients, someone’s sold them to her. Then the smugglers — she’s moving fast, so she’s got to have passage arranged, and I’ll be damned if I let her slip out of the city unnoticed. And if none of that turns anything up?” She squared her shoulders, steeling herself against the leaden weight of exhaustion. “Then I burn down every last rat hole she might be hiding in until I find her.”

Her eyes locked onto Astele’s, a silent challenge. Sleep could wait. The hag's victims could not. And she was running out of time.

[harpershigh]

Neither @myrkulsapxstle nor Jaheira had a choice in this

Jaheira ladled even portions of chicken soup into a wooden bowl, and handed them to those gathered around the campfire. Finally, she approached Ketheric, offering him the final bowl, and then she moved to the log that served as their bench.

Naturally, she sat at the farthest edge, leaving a respectable space between them. Settling herself, she brought a spoonful of soup to her lips, tasting it with a hum of approval. Her smile softened as she announced, almost proudly, "Khalid’s recipe. It always managed to lift my spirits, no matter how bleak things seemed."

There was no point in antagonizing him now, as Isobel had said. And Jaheira, for all her stubbornness, couldn’t deny the truth in it. They were to travel together for some time yet, and silence would only fester into mistrust. She glanced at Ketheric, his brooding figure outlined by the light of the fire. Cementing their truce wasn’t just a courtesy; it was a necessity if they were to face what lay ahead.

She took another spoonful, the warmth of the broth spreading through her chest, and her voice grew quieter, more thoughtful. "He had this way about him," she said, glancing toward the firelight as if Khalid’s image might be reflected there. "As though he’d been born to care for others. Every little thing he did — gentle hands, soft words — made you feel like you could survive anything."

Her smile turned wry, her tone tinged with dry humor as she gestured vaguely with her spoon. "He was my exact opposite. I’ve always been better suited to clawing and snapping at people. Never quite mastered the whole gentle touch thing." She chuckled, though there was a quiet fondness beneath her words, as if the memory of Khalid made her rough edges a little softer.

With a quiet sigh, she continues. "And before you ask — yes, this was Isobel's idea." Jaheira's tone was dry, but there was a faint flicker of humour beneath it. She glanced at Ketheric, then away, as though weighing her own words. "If we’re to share the road, we might as well share more than silence. And… talking about Khalid brings me peace. It always had."

[harpershigh]

Jaheira grew silent.

Deadly silent.

She watched Ketheric as he paced — angry, frantic, but most of all, afraid. It was plain as day he hadn’t truly thought any of this through, not past his own desperation. She should’ve felt triumphant watching him unravel, should’ve savoured the sight of his torment. Yet, all she felt was a deep, unshakable sorrow.

Grief was like that. It mangled you, crushed you, left you gasping in so much agony that you'd reach for anything, anything, to make it stop. Ketheric had gambled everything he had — his love, his life, his very soul — on a hopeless wager. And now, as the reality of it bore down on him, he couldn’t even see the full tragedy of what he’d done, of what he’d dragged everyone he cared for into.

Jaheira’s heart weighed heavy. For all his crimes, for all his foolishness, Ketheric Thorm was still a man drowning in grief. And grief, she knew too well, was a tyrant like no other.

The question that followed, though, caught her by surprise. A thousand answers raised to the surface, yet not a single one took form. What could she possibly say to Ketheric? For all her wisdom, in this moment, she felt utterly bereft of it.

"I could stand here and tell you it’s all about balance," Jaheira said, her voice steady but her eyes flicking to Ketheric, studying him. She let the pause stretch, just a breath. "But that would be a lie. It’s always been about the people."

“Khalid…" She inhaled deeply, her gaze drifting away. "He was more than just my husband. He was my strength when I had none, my calm in a storm. I didn’t always show it, but he was my heart, in ways I never truly understood until he was gone. We fought together, we dreamed together. He never wavered, not once, even when I doubted myself." She paused again, a small, bitter smile tugging at her lips. "He believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. I was so lost without him, I— I just…"

The moment Khalid's name left her lips, Jaheira felt like a fool — a damned fool — for spilling her heart out to Ketheric Thorm of all people. A sworn enemy, a man that might scorn her deepest feelings or, worse, twist them into a weapon against her. She didn't raise her eyes to him again, but she could almost see the sneer forming, the glint of cruelty in his eyes. But as the words kept spilling out, she realized she couldn’t stop. The grief, the love, the promise — it had lived in her heart for so long, and speaking it aloud felt like breathing after being underwater for too long. Let him sneer, let him try to mock her or exploit her weakness. Ketheric be damned if he thought he could shatter what she’d built within herself. Whatever he saw in her now wasn’t weakness; it was strength, raw and unyielding, forged in the fires of loss and tempered by love.

Jaheira took a shuddering breath, her voice trembling as she spoke, the memories cutting through her like a blade. "In my darkest moments, I was consumed — consumed by the need to hunt down the man who destroyed everything I held dear. I threw away my Harper pin, and swore that anyone who dared to stand in my way would pay the price. And when I finally had my vengeance... After I paved my path with the corpses of Irenicus' allies and his blood pooled at my feet..." Her voice cracked, and she clenched her fists tightly, as if trying to hold herself together.

"I was hollow. Empty."

Her gaze fell to the ground, her shoulders slumping. "I looked back — back at all the destruction and chaos I had carved, at the lives I had shattered, and all I could think about was Khalid. What he would say if he could see me in that moment." Her voice faltered, tears welling up and spilling over as she choked out the words.

"And then I knew. He wouldn't say a word. He wouldn't need to. He would simply... Stare at me. His eyes would be filled with sorrow, looking at a woman he no longer recognized. A woman that no longer was the woman he married and loved until his last day."

There was no point in fighting back the tears now. She made no effort to wipe them away. "It was then, standing there in the blood and ruin, that I realized... this was not the life Khalid would have wanted me to live. It was not the life I wanted to live. And gods forgive me, it was almost too late to turn back."

"From that day on, I swore I would fight, not just to survive, but to live a life Khalid would be proud of. A life he would want me to live." Her hands shook as she finally wiped at the tears streaking her face. Her voice broke, and she pressed a hand to her chest as if trying to steady the ache. "I'm not gonna lie... some days it feels impossible. And you just need to look at me to know I fail more often than I succeed. But I remind myself that he wouldn't want me to let it consume me. He'd want me to find joy where I can, to stay true to myself..."

"It didn’t erase the pain or the loss. But it gave me a reason — a purpose — to keep moving forward. To live a life that honours him. Every day, I choose that. And I will keep choosing it, until the day I see him again."

It makes sense — a terrible, dreadful sense — that Ketheric turned to Myrkul.

"Nothing cuts deeper than the absence of those you love most. Nothing shatters the soul like that kind of loss." Jaheira said, her voice heavy with sorrow, "And then, you’re left with no choice but to summon the strength to move on. To gather what little remains of your heart and rebuild it, piece by jagged piece. I've done it more times than I can count, and still, I know my heart will never be whole again."

"But tell me — did you truly believe Myrkul would grant you his favour without a cost? Did you think your soul was the only one the Lord of Bones bound to his will?" Jaheira’s eyes flicked, almost imperceptibly, toward the tent Isobel shared with Ailyn. There was an unmistakable mournfulness in her expression, shadowed by worry. "She will live a full life, I hope. But when the time comes… will her soul find rest?"

The question hung between them, a bitter echo of guilt and forewarning. The fear of answering it was the very reason that stopped Jaheira from doing the very same for Khalid, all those decades ago.

[harpershigh]

It makes sense — a terrible, dreadful sense — that Ketheric turned to Myrkul.

"Nothing cuts deeper than the absence of those you love most. Nothing shatters the soul like that kind of loss." Jaheira said, her voice heavy with sorrow, "And then, you’re left with no choice but to summon the strength to move on. To gather what little remains of your heart and rebuild it, piece by jagged piece. I've done it more times than I can count, and still, I know my heart will never be whole again."

"But tell me — did you truly believe Myrkul would grant you his favour without a cost? Did you think your soul was the only one the Lord of Bones bound to his will?" Jaheira’s eyes flicked, almost imperceptibly, toward the tent Isobel shared with Ailyn. There was an unmistakable mournfulness in her expression, shadowed by worry. "She will live a full life, I hope. But when the time comes… will her soul find rest?"

The question hung between them, a bitter echo of guilt and forewarning. The fear of answering it was the very reason that stopped Jaheira from doing the very same for Khalid, all those decades ago.

Jaheira stood frozen for a moment, staring at Ketheric with fire still simmering behind her eyes. But it wasn’t just rage now; it was something... deeper. Something raw and unrelenting that clawed at her chest. The sorrow she’d buried for so long, pushed away with every battle, every loss, every desperate attempt to move forward, now surged to the surface. She swallowed against the ache, her breath hitching in her throat.

She took a step back from him, her movements slow, deliberate, and far less... menacing. Her gaze was still locked into his, unyielding, and yet, there was something unexpected within it.

Compassion.

“You wanted the impossible,” she said, her voice quieter now, though it trembled under the weight of her own emotions. “To forget them? To erase what they meant to you? That’s not how it works, no matter what Shar, or any other promisses. Even if you wiped away the memories of their faces, their voices, their love... you could never escape it. Their presence shaped you. So did their loss.”

She exhaled shakily, her hand curling into a fist at her side as she fought the tears that threatened to escape her resolve. “That’s what it means to love someone, Ketheric. To let them seep into your very being, to twine themselves into the core of who you are. Even in their absence, they remain. They always will.”

Jaheira paused, her gaze dropping briefly to the ground as her anger ebbed into a quiet, somber understanding. She takes yet another step back, this time turning away from the paladin she once swore to destroy. When she spoke again, it was almost a whisper.

“You twine your life around the people you love. And when they’re gone, you grow around their absence instead. It is just another way they shape you.”

She finally looked at him again from over her shoulder, her expression no longer one of fury but of bittersweet acknowledgment. Grief was not something that could be burned away. It was something you carried, even as it carved its mark into your soul.

[harpershigh]

"People used to say the same about Khalid," Jaheira said, her tone dry, laced with a faint edge of bitter nostalgia as she finishes swiping the tears of her face. A short, humorless snort escaped her. "He was my voice of reason — or my brakes, depending on who you asked. Not that I ever listened as often as I should have."

At his question, Jaheira merely shrugged. "You asked."

But she understood what he meant. "Wouldn't you want to know your enemy? Their reasons, their line of thought? Wouldn't you seek some shred of truth to explain all the carnage you've seen?" Her voice was steady, almost reflective, before a faint smirk tugged at her lips. "Not everyone enjoys a talkative foe, of course. I, for one, couldn’t stomach Irenicus' endless speeches — and by the gods, the man adored the sound of his own voice. But you're not Irenicus."

She paused, the faint amusement evaporating. Her tone shifted, and so did her stance. Squared shoulders, hands clasped behind her back, her chin held high. Where moments ago there was Jaheira The Druid, now stood Jaheira The High Harper, sharp and unyielding. "Consider this a sign of truce. We will fight side by side against our common foe. No schemes, no daggers in the dark, no 'battlefield accidents'. You have my word on that. But don’t mistake it for leniency. When this is over, you will answer for your deeds — and my blades will be ready to hear it."

Jaheira grew silent.

Deadly silent.

She watched Ketheric as he paced — angry, frantic, but most of all, afraid. It was plain as day he hadn’t truly thought any of this through, not past his own desperation. She should’ve felt triumphant watching him unravel, should’ve savoured the sight of his torment. Yet, all she felt was a deep, unshakable sorrow.

Grief was like that. It mangled you, crushed you, left you gasping in so much agony that you'd reach for anything, anything, to make it stop. Ketheric had gambled everything he had — his love, his life, his very soul — on a hopeless wager. And now, as the reality of it bore down on him, he couldn’t even see the full tragedy of what he’d done, of what he’d dragged everyone he cared for into.

Jaheira’s heart weighed heavy. For all his crimes, for all his foolishness, Ketheric Thorm was still a man drowning in grief. And grief, she knew too well, was a tyrant like no other.

The question that followed, though, caught her by surprise. A thousand answers raised to the surface, yet not a single one took form. What could she possibly say to Ketheric? For all her wisdom, in this moment, she felt utterly bereft of it.

"I could stand here and tell you it’s all about balance," Jaheira said, her voice steady but her eyes flicking to Ketheric, studying him. She let the pause stretch, just a breath. "But that would be a lie. It’s always been about the people."

“Khalid…" She inhaled deeply, her gaze drifting away. "He was more than just my husband. He was my strength when I had none, my calm in a storm. I didn’t always show it, but he was my heart, in ways I never truly understood until he was gone. We fought together, we dreamed together. He never wavered, not once, even when I doubted myself." She paused again, a small, bitter smile tugging at her lips. "He believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. I was so lost without him, I— I just…"

The moment Khalid's name left her lips, Jaheira felt like a fool — a damned fool — for spilling her heart out to Ketheric Thorm of all people. A sworn enemy, a man that might scorn her deepest feelings or, worse, twist them into a weapon against her. She didn't raise her eyes to him again, but she could almost see the sneer forming, the glint of cruelty in his eyes. But as the words kept spilling out, she realized she couldn’t stop. The grief, the love, the promise — it had lived in her heart for so long, and speaking it aloud felt like breathing after being underwater for too long. Let him sneer, let him try to mock her or exploit her weakness. Ketheric be damned if he thought he could shatter what she’d built within herself. Whatever he saw in her now wasn’t weakness; it was strength, raw and unyielding, forged in the fires of loss and tempered by love.

Jaheira took a shuddering breath, her voice trembling as she spoke, the memories cutting through her like a blade. "In my darkest moments, I was consumed — consumed by the need to hunt down the man who destroyed everything I held dear. I threw away my Harper pin, and swore that anyone who dared to stand in my way would pay the price. And when I finally had my vengeance... After I paved my path with the corpses of Irenicus' allies and his blood pooled at my feet..." Her voice cracked, and she clenched her fists tightly, as if trying to hold herself together.

"I was hollow. Empty."

Her gaze fell to the ground, her shoulders slumping. "I looked back — back at all the destruction and chaos I had carved, at the lives I had shattered, and all I could think about was Khalid. What he would say if he could see me in that moment." Her voice faltered, tears welling up and spilling over as she choked out the words.

"And then I knew. He wouldn't say a word. He wouldn't need to. He would simply... Stare at me. His eyes would be filled with sorrow, looking at a woman he no longer recognized. A woman that no longer was the woman he married and loved until his last day."

There was no point in fighting back the tears now. She made no effort to wipe them away. "It was then, standing there in the blood and ruin, that I realized... this was not the life Khalid would have wanted me to live. It was not the life I wanted to live. And gods forgive me, it was almost too late to turn back."

"From that day on, I swore I would fight, not just to survive, but to live a life Khalid would be proud of. A life he would want me to live." Her hands shook as she finally wiped at the tears streaking her face. Her voice broke, and she pressed a hand to her chest as if trying to steady the ache. "I'm not gonna lie... some days it feels impossible. And you just need to look at me to know I fail more often than I succeed. But I remind myself that he wouldn't want me to let it consume me. He'd want me to find joy where I can, to stay true to myself..."

"It didn’t erase the pain or the loss. But it gave me a reason — a purpose — to keep moving forward. To live a life that honours him. Every day, I choose that. And I will keep choosing it, until the day I see him again."

[harpershigh]

The flickering flames cast sharp shadows over his features, twisting his face into something even harder to look at, if that was even possible. As if slaughtering her comrades — good men and women who had trusted her leadership — over the course of nearly a decade wasn’t enough, the old, wretched shell of a man seemed intent on testing her patience further. Her fingers twitched at her side, itching for the hilt of her blade, but she held steady. She wouldn’t let him see how deeply his presence gnawed at her, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing just how easily he could worm his way under her skin.

Jaheira’s lips twisted — not into a smirk, but a sneer — her gaze still locked on Ketheric across the campfire. She wanted to lash out, to scream at him for the lifetimes of pain he’d caused, for the things he had stolen — stolen from her, from everyone. A bitter part of her even considered slashing her blade across his face, leaving him with a scar to carry the weight of her fury. But she forced the thought away. She knew better. Openly antagonizing him now would achieve nothing. It would be pointless. Fruitless. But gods, how she wanted to.

They were, in fact, stuck together in this situation.

Jaheira simply kept still, watching him for a couple of moments that seemed to stretch endlessly. Her eyes narrowed, her tone dripping with just the same amount of sarcasm he offered her, as she leaned forward just enough for the firelight to catch the sharp angles of her face. “Two good deeds, you say? Well, I suppose I’ll have to weigh them carefully in the aftermath, won’t I? Perhaps I’ll tally them against the countless lives you’ve torn apart and see where the scales fall. Though something tells me it won’t exactly tip in your favour.”

A pause.

Then, she rose to her feet, almost too abruptly, as if prepared to pounce over the fire, looming like a storm on the brink. “Why? And spare me the sanctimonious drivel about grief and love — I won’t stomach these excuses.”

@myrkulsapxstle

Jaheira lowered herself to the ground by the fire, her movements slow, deliberate. She sat cross-legged, her back straight, facing Ketheric Thorm directly across the flames. The flickering light painted sharp shadows across her face, but it was her eyes that cut deepest — steady, piercing, and full of unspoken judgment. Her expression was carved in stone, anger tempered by a careful, calculating scrutiny. She studied him as one would study a venomous creature, searching for the vulnerable spot beneath the armor, the crack in the facade. There was no room for kindness here, only an unyielding need to understand the man who had brought so much devastation.

Understand? No. Not the right word. This man had taken too much from her to deserve her understanding now.

"Tell me, general," Jaheira said, the title drawn out with a contempt that cut like a blade. Her gaze bore into Ketheric's, unrelenting. "Do you truly believe that a single good deed can erase the years of shadows you've cast?"

Jaheira didn’t expect him to answer. She doubted he even could. Yet, she asked anyway. What was she hoping to hear? Perhaps nothing at all. Gods, the only conversation she wanted to have with Ketheric Thorm right now involved the sharp edge of her blades — or, better yet, her claws.

[harpershigh]

Jaheira straightened her posture so fast she nearly pulled something. Gods forbid Ketheric ever figured out how she’d managed to bring him back. Luckily, he looked too dazed from his near-demise to notice the finer details — or the mud now streaked up her arms like war paint. Even luckier, he wasn’t staring at her face, which was currently trying to disguise the sheer panic she just went into mere moments ago.

"I’d call it a good strategic retreat," she said, words tumbling out with the conviction of someone selling snake oil. Okay, good might’ve been pushing it. “Well, we survived,” she corrected, the sigh that followed so heavy it could’ve doubled as a summoning spell for exhaustion.

She rubbed a hand over her face, only succeeding in smearing the mud further. “Next time, I’m shifting into a crocodile before we get in over our heads.” She froze for a beat, the absurdity of her own words catching up to her. “Next time? Gods above, someone tie me to a tree if I even think of agreeing to this madness again.”

This wasn’t her first absurd escapade. Oh no, not by a long shot. Nor was it her second. In fact, Jaheira had lost count somewhere after the fiftieth life-or-death fiasco that had become her Harper existence. Her entire career was practically a string of near-death experiences duct-taped together by sheer stubbornness, divine intervention, and an arsenal of very unconventional escape tactics. Honestly, the gods probably had a betting pool on her survival at this point.

She got up to her feet with an almost comedic groan, and a barely audible crack of her knees. “Right,” she muttered, brushing semi-dry mud off her arms, “time to move. The others might’ve actually been blessed with some luck — not being trapped up to their necks in those blasted sewers. Ugh. What a nightmare.” She squinted as she began to climb the riverbank towards Rivington above. “Though I’m sure they’ve had their own fun. Now march.”

Jaheira's gaze fixed on the dark, churning waters, her breath shallow as she scanned for any ripple, any break in the surface. She had lost Ketheric as soon as they crashed into the river, so she waited a moment. Then another. Then another still. The world seemed to hold its breath with her. Still, it offered no answer. She could only hope that he did NOT sink to the bottom like a piece of lead.

A piece of... lead... metal... heavy... His armour...!

Silvanus' horns. Ketheric sank.

Her hand smacked against her forehead with a force that echoed her frustration. If she didn’t haul him back up, Jaheira knew she’d never hear the end of it. The thought gnawed at her, as relentless as the tide at her feet. She could almost hear a chorus of reprimands — some from the living, some from ghosts she’d rather forget — looming like a storm on the horizon. She let out a sharp breath, her jaw tightening. Fine. Let the gods damn her for it later. But first, she’d have to fish the fool out of the abyss. After all, she was partially responsible for that.

With a deep inhale, Jaheira let the shift take her, the familiar surge of primal energy coursing through her body. Bones cracked and reshaped, skin thickened into scaled armour, and her senses sharpened to a predator's edge. She hit the water with a quiet splash, her powerful tail propelling her forward. The murk of the depths embraced her, but her now crocodilian eyes scanned through it with ease, searching for the telltale struggle of a body caught in the current.

And she found it — Ketheric Thorm, slumped at the bottom. Without hesitation, she propelled herself downward, her massive jaws clamping around his armored waist, the teeth scraping against the steel with a grip firm enough to hold but not to pierce. The weight of him dragged, resisting her ascent, but painstakingly with some effort, she dragged his heavy form toward the distant glimmer of sunlight breaking on the shore.

With a final surge, Jaheira hauled his sodden form onto the sand, her jaws releasing him with a metallic clink as his armor thudded against the earth. She shifted back, her body folding and twisting until her familiar half-elf form knelt beside him, drenched and shaking. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her wet hair clinging to her face as she leaned down, pressing her ear to where his lungs should be.

Should he even breathe? Did he ever?

"Come on, you bastard," she muttered, her fingers searching his throat for a pulse that might as well have been a myth. "I didn't drag your sorry arse out of that river for you to prove me wrong now." Her hands lit with the faintest flicker of green, trembling as she pressed them to his chest. But the magic sputtered, faltered, and died — nothing but a cold, mocking silence in its place. "Nononono... It's not the time for this!"

Jaheira's head snapped up, her frantic gaze sweeping the shoreline. Empty. Not a single friend or foe, not even a curious passerby to share in her rising panic. They were alone — utterly, completely. "Damn it," she hissed through clenched teeth, her nails digging into the damp sand. No options, no time. Just her and him and this unbearable silence.

Her trembling hands plunged into the earth, pleading with the land to lend her its strength, any scrap of power it would spare. A faint hum of magic answered, weak but enough, forming a cluster of small, glistening Goodberries in her palms. She couldn't fucking believe in what she was about to do. "Silvanus forgive me," she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut before shoving a few into her mouth, chewing with grim determination. The pulp coated her tongue, bitter and cloying, but she spat the half-mashed remnants into her hand without hesitation.

Leaning over Ketheric's seemingly lifeless form, she forced the chewed berries between his lips, her fingers pressing them until they were halfway through his throat. Then, with a deep breath, she pinched his nose shut and sealed her lips over his. She exhaled forcefully, willing the air into his lungs — and whatever small hope the Goodberries might hold into his stomach. Again, and again, her body shaking as she repeated the motion, desperation etched into every hurried breath. "Come back, damn you! I did not pull you out just to bury you!"

[harpershigh]

Jaheira stood frozen for a moment, staring at Ketheric with fire still simmering behind her eyes. But it wasn’t just rage now; it was something... deeper. Something raw and unrelenting that clawed at her chest. The sorrow she’d buried for so long, pushed away with every battle, every loss, every desperate attempt to move forward, now surged to the surface. She swallowed against the ache, her breath hitching in her throat.

She took a step back from him, her movements slow, deliberate, and far less... menacing. Her gaze was still locked into his, unyielding, and yet, there was something unexpected within it.

Compassion.

“You wanted the impossible,” she said, her voice quieter now, though it trembled under the weight of her own emotions. “To forget them? To erase what they meant to you? That’s not how it works, no matter what Shar, or any other promisses. Even if you wiped away the memories of their faces, their voices, their love... you could never escape it. Their presence shaped you. So did their loss.”

She exhaled shakily, her hand curling into a fist at her side as she fought the tears that threatened to escape her resolve. “That’s what it means to love someone, Ketheric. To let them seep into your very being, to twine themselves into the core of who you are. Even in their absence, they remain. They always will.”

Jaheira paused, her gaze dropping briefly to the ground as her anger ebbed into a quiet, somber understanding. She takes yet another step back, this time turning away from the paladin she once swore to destroy. When she spoke again, it was almost a whisper.

“You twine your life around the people you love. And when they’re gone, you grow around their absence instead. It is just another way they shape you.”

She finally looked at him again from over her shoulder, her expression no longer one of fury but of bittersweet acknowledgment. Grief was not something that could be burned away. It was something you carried, even as it carved its mark into your soul.

Jaheira closed the distance in two long, deliberate strides, her boots striking the ground with the weight of her fury. She stopped just shy of the fire, her features etched with rage and barely restrained sorrow. Her heart pounded as though it sought to climb into her throat and choke the words before they escaped, but the force of her emotions surged past any attempt to temper them.

"How dare you?" The words came low and fierce, a hiss that grew louder with every syllable. "Do you truly think your grief deserves to stand above all else? That your pain holds some divine priority? A father’s sorrow? A husband’s loss?" The repetition dripped with venom, her voice trembling as it tried to twist into a scoff, but instead, it flared into raw, searing anger. "Do not lecture me about grief, Ketheric."

Her voice cracked but didn't falter. If anything, it seemed now driven by the heat of her anguish. "If the pain of a father and husband is enough to shatter the world, then tell me — what should the pain of a wife, of a mother whose children from her womb never even took their first breath, bring? Should she burn the heavens to cinders? Should she lay waste to countless lives in the name of her agony? Would it fill the hollow in her heart? Would it quiet the screaming emptiness inside her?" Her voice rose, trembling with fury, though the tears threatening her eyes stayed locked behind a dam of sheer will.

She would not weep.

She refused to weep.

Not here.

Not in front of him.

Only rage was permitted.

There had been nights — so many nights — when Jaheira had stood on the precipice of destruction, the weight of her grief pulling her forward like a siren's call. After Khalid’s lifeless body lay crumpled before her, his warmth stolen by the horrors that mad mage unleashed on him. After each miscarriage left her cradling a hollow ache where life had once stirred. After Abdel was taken from her over a whim of a God. She had thought of it then, more times than she could count — of burning the world to match the inferno in her heart. To make the land cry out in anguish as she had, to scorch it raw and unrecognizable. And yet, she hadn’t. Not for some noble conviction or imagined moral high ground.

Why, then?

What held her back?

Perhaps it was a weakness, a failure to summon the strength to see it through.

Perhaps it was simply lack of opportunity, the absence of the right moment to shatter everything.

What, then, truly separated her from Ketheric Thorm? Was it merely circumstance that stayed her hand while his had been forced? The thought twisted in her gut, sharp and unforgiving. Because if there was no great chasm between them, no defining point to set her apart, then who was she to condemn him for succumbing to the darkness she had only managed to skirt?

"Tell me, Ketheric," she demanded, stepping closer, practically looming over him, her eyes burning into his, her voice almost a quiet hush, pushing through the lump in her throat. "How did it work for the grieving father and husband? Did the destruction soothe him? Did it make the ache bearable?"

[harpershigh]

Jaheira's gaze fixed on the dark, churning waters, her breath shallow as she scanned for any ripple, any break in the surface. She had lost Ketheric as soon as they crashed into the river, so she waited a moment. Then another. Then another still. The world seemed to hold its breath with her. Still, it offered no answer. She could only hope that he did NOT sink to the bottom like a piece of lead.

A piece of... lead... metal... heavy... His armour...!

Silvanus' horns. Ketheric sank.

Her hand smacked against her forehead with a force that echoed her frustration. If she didn’t haul him back up, Jaheira knew she’d never hear the end of it. The thought gnawed at her, as relentless as the tide at her feet. She could almost hear a chorus of reprimands — some from the living, some from ghosts she’d rather forget — looming like a storm on the horizon. She let out a sharp breath, her jaw tightening. Fine. Let the gods damn her for it later. But first, she’d have to fish the fool out of the abyss. After all, she was partially responsible for that.

With a deep inhale, Jaheira let the shift take her, the familiar surge of primal energy coursing through her body. Bones cracked and reshaped, skin thickened into scaled armour, and her senses sharpened to a predator's edge. She hit the water with a quiet splash, her powerful tail propelling her forward. The murk of the depths embraced her, but her now crocodilian eyes scanned through it with ease, searching for the telltale struggle of a body caught in the current.

And she found it — Ketheric Thorm, slumped at the bottom. Without hesitation, she propelled herself downward, her massive jaws clamping around his armored waist, the teeth scraping against the steel with a grip firm enough to hold but not to pierce. The weight of him dragged, resisting her ascent, but painstakingly with some effort, she dragged his heavy form toward the distant glimmer of sunlight breaking on the shore.

With a final surge, Jaheira hauled his sodden form onto the sand, her jaws releasing him with a metallic clink as his armor thudded against the earth. She shifted back, her body folding and twisting until her familiar half-elf form knelt beside him, drenched and shaking. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her wet hair clinging to her face as she leaned down, pressing her ear to where his lungs should be.

Should he even breathe? Did he ever?

"Come on, you bastard," she muttered, her fingers searching his throat for a pulse that might as well have been a myth. "I didn't drag your sorry arse out of that river for you to prove me wrong now." Her hands lit with the faintest flicker of green, trembling as she pressed them to his chest. But the magic sputtered, faltered, and died — nothing but a cold, mocking silence in its place. "Nononono... It's not the time for this!"

Jaheira's head snapped up, her frantic gaze sweeping the shoreline. Empty. Not a single friend or foe, not even a curious passerby to share in her rising panic. They were alone — utterly, completely. "Damn it," she hissed through clenched teeth, her nails digging into the damp sand. No options, no time. Just her and him and this unbearable silence.

Her trembling hands plunged into the earth, pleading with the land to lend her its strength, any scrap of power it would spare. A faint hum of magic answered, weak but enough, forming a cluster of small, glistening Goodberries in her palms. She couldn't fucking believe in what she was about to do. "Silvanus forgive me," she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut before shoving a few into her mouth, chewing with grim determination. The pulp coated her tongue, bitter and cloying, but she spat the half-mashed remnants into her hand without hesitation.

Leaning over Ketheric's seemingly lifeless form, she forced the chewed berries between his lips, her fingers pressing them until they were halfway through his throat. Then, with a deep breath, she pinched his nose shut and sealed her lips over his. She exhaled forcefully, willing the air into his lungs — and whatever small hope the Goodberries might hold into his stomach. Again, and again, her body shaking as she repeated the motion, desperation etched into every hurried breath. "Come back, damn you! I did not pull you out just to bury you!"

A 90's cartoon episode for @myrkulsapxstle

The sewers were a deathtrap. This much they knew in the moment they got there. But now... Now their situation was dire. They were knees-deep in filth, separated from the rest of the group as bhaalists circled them, their eyes glinting, their weapons ready. She stood back-to-back with Ketheric, her blades in hands, her thoughts racing through the spells she had left, the ones she hadn’t already burned in the fight. Would a Wall of Thorns slow them down enough? Or would it just make the ambush worse? What about summoning animals — a swarm of rats, maybe, if they’d even listen in this chaos? To make everything even worse, someone opened a vault, and now the water level was rising, and fast. Could she redirect the current of dejects to topple them all? Yuck, no. How could she buy them time? Every plan she considered unraveled just as quickly — too slow, too reckless, too risky. Her fingers flexed on her blades, her thoughts now drifting to Ketheric. Would he even cooperate, or would he turn on her now that they are alone? Gods, there’s no time for this! The water lapped at her thighs now, and the bhaalists were tightening their circle. Her teeth clenched, and she glanced back at Ketheric. No time for cleverness. No time for anything but brute survival.

"Enough of this!" she growled, her voice thick with frustration.

In a blur, she let the primal magic within her take over. Her form twisted, bones cracking and expanding, her figure growing massive and wild. Feathers and fur erupted along her skin, talons extending from what were once hands. An ear-splitting roar erupted from her throat as she took the form of an immense and snarling owlbear.

"Hold on!" was all she managed to growl before she swept Ketheric off his feet, tossing him onto her broad back like a sack of grain. Without hesitation, she barreled forward, claws slashing and swiping at their would-be assassins.

One leap, then another, her massive frame crashing against walls and scattering enemies as if they were nothing more than debris in her path as she barreled through the winding tunnels. Soon, the way turned into a sharp descent, and Jaheira's claws scraped uselessly against the slick, muck-coated walls of the sewer, her owlbear bulk skidding uncontrollably down the tunnel. The sound of her own momentum — a mix of growls, clawing, and the unrelenting splatter of filth — echoed around them.

Then, down ahead — a light. It pierced the gloom like a cruel joke, and her heart leapt with momentary hope. But as the exit grew closer, her eyes widened in horror. The light wasn't salvation; it was the mouth of a tunnel opening high above the Chiontar River.

Bloody hells!

The owlbear shot out of the sewer like a massive, furred cannonball, and for a split second, they were airborne. Without hesitation, she shifted mid-plummet. The massive form dissolved into her lithe, half-elven one, the force of the transformation jarring her as she shoved Ketheric free.

The freezing water hit her like a hammer, knocking the air from her lungs. She tumbled under, her limbs flailing as she fought to resurface. Her head broke through the surface, and she gasped, coughing and sputtering as she made her way to the shore.

"Bloody, blasted sewers!" she choked, spitting water. "I'm going to kill every single bhaalist for this!"

She barely manages to stand, hands braced on her knees as she gasps for air, water dripping from her hair and clothes. Her eyes dart along the shore, scanning for Ketheric. Pure practicality, of course. If he drowned or went missing, she wouldn’t want her name tied to the mess. and Isobel would never forgive her