The Rise of The Second Born Bard
The party had arrived bloodied and beaten. The body of a cold and limp Tav had been placed gently at Whither’s feet. The skeleton was at work for longer than one would consider comfortable for the situation. From the second they crashed back into camp, Wither’s was unable to guarantee a successful reunion. Something was a miss, but none would hear it. “Dammit, man, you can’t tell me there isn't a shard of this soul's light left somewhere; I won’t hear it!” The wizard’s voice almost broke before dropping his head. Withers stood still in all-knowing calmness, giving a heavy sigh as it granted a wide berth to the wizard's mounting rage. A low growl began to form words, from a dead language that bore a dark resemblance to Draconic. It spilled forth from his throat, sounding like a wounded beast out for blood. A piercing shaft of amethyst colored light radiated from the scar from behind torn robes. It glowed bright as if it could melt skin off bone. Shadowheart watched in a bri...