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X-MEN 97' (2024 - ) 1.05 "Remember It"

#x men 97 #x men '97 #x-men #x men the animated series #magneto

[sh4rkb0y-004]

This one is painful

Big Bear, Little Bear - Constantin & Bettany

The evening fog rolled over the forested hills and valleys of Barovia… Its cold mists spreading through the twisted trees and dark skies. The fog made everything appear subdued as if seen through a thin veil. Everything stood still, not a noise could be heard as it seemed like the silence would spread for eternity.

There was no sign of life in the forest, no chirping night bugs, chattering rodents, or howling wolves. The only identifiable confirmation of at least some living thing was a caravan parked near a cobbled street, two massive steeds tied to a nearby tree. What appeared to be the warm light of a candlestick flickering faintly from its shuttered windows.

The inhabitants of the cavern had left it, leaving but one member behind of his own volition.  

Bettany Blackstarr sat alone, the party having left to find somewhere to get a drink, led by the boisterous (and frankly insufferable) Winchester. The cowboy claimed that they needed to make a stop “to clear their minds”, which apparently meant getting drunk while on a race against time. 

Well, the caravan wasn’t entirely empty, the unconscious body of Constantin Vasiliev accompanied him, his friend lying motionless on the wooden floor. 

It was the first time Bettany had been truly alone long enough to look at the Barovian’s wounds, even now he struggled to look too deeply at the horror that had become of him.

Constantin didn’t look well. His skin had become chalky, and paler than normal, eyes having sunk into his sockets slightly. His body had been horrifically burned, twisted, and pulled skin melded with his chainmail. The puncture in his neck spread nasty tendrils of dark purple magic through his veins, spreading under his skin, creeping up onto his jawline and down his chest. His curly mop of dark hair lay flat and matted with blood across his forehead.

Bettany shuddered, looking at his friend in this state was upsetting… it should be him lying there, maybe if he hadn't been so weak.

Bettany crouched closer to Constantin, placing a single finger on his forehead.

Constantin’s corpse offered no response as it was poked. He was, for all intents and purposes, dead to the world.

He was tired… so tired from the journey,

He hadn't had any time to think about what happened. How his failure at the windmill led directly to the near murder of one of his only friends. Bettany shook his head, closing his eyes as he attempted to calm his mind from the thought.

His consciousness soon slipped into sleep, a grey environment made of smudged shapes, nothing distinguishable from the other blurry objects in the foreground. 

Inside the grey dreamscape, a figure loomed over Bettany. It was a gargantuan figure, clad in black iron armor, a weave of chains forming sturdy yet flexible panels of armor. Its face was obscured by a similarly tinted helmet, a flat panel of iron with grills to allow airflow, and slits in the visor for sight. It simply stared down at the Druid unblinkingly, silently, a veritable statue.

Bettany felt a presence creep behind him. He tensed, turning cautiously to face the intruder, the setting around him morphing into a faint cobbled street. 

Bettany was met with armor, having to crane his head upwards to meet the figure’s eyes… or where his eyes would be.

The armor was unfamiliar, not Constantin’s… not armor that Bettany had seen him adorn at the very least.

“… What?” Bettany muttered, slowly reaching a hand to touch the black-clad figure.

Two gloved hands shot upwards, a sudden movement. They came to rest on the sides of the helmet, lifting it from the armored man’s head. Under the steel bucket was… Constantin.

He looked… Different. His face wasn’t as gaunt, his eyes had a bit more life in them. He stared down at Bettany with not even the vaguest feeling on his face.

“You’re… here?” Bettany asked, his voice echoing through the dreamscape.

Bettany sighed with relief, rushing towards Constantin, throwing his arms around him.

The giant of a man glared down at Bettany. His arms raised wide, avoiding reciprocating the sudden embrace. He did not recoil or attack, but there was a tense air in the grey void. After a moment, he spoke in a dull, harsh accent.

“что ты делаешь, маленький человек?”

Bettany dropped the hug, backstepping in a panic.

‘He doesn’t think in common!’ Bettany recalled. Bettany didn’t speak Barovian, he’d picked up some of the linguistics but was still nowhere close to being fluent.

“Constantin?” He asked, the grey environment distorting momentarily as Bettany lost his focus trying to translate his words into Barovian. 

 “я нет.. имея…понимание?” Bettany stammered, looking confusedly at the paladin.

”кто ты.” The spectral form of Constantin said flatly, with a harshness to his tone that Bettany would know the living Constantin offered to those he found threatening.

Even a basic course of Barovian was overkill to understand Constantin, especially given the context of his expression. He was asking who Bettany was. He did not recognize his friend. Not here.

Bettany felt himself shake. The words had hit him like a punch, he pointed a trembling finger to his own chest.

“Друг,” Bettany muttered, “friend… I’m your friend.”

Bettany paused, searching Constantin’s cold gaze for any sort of recognition, his eyes welling with tears.

“Друг.” He repeated.

Constantin's unrecognizing glare softened, but only slightly. 

"Как тебя зовут, друг?" The interrogation continued. There was an air of hostility, but it did not project outward. It was reclusive... Defensive.

Bettany bit his lip, exhaling shakily, “Bettany Blackstarr? Mеня зовут черная звезда…”

Bettany shook his head, looking around desperately. Why didn’t it work? What did he do wrong?

“You don’t remember me?” Bettany asked, “помнить?”

His shoulders tensed, the scenery re-working itself like water spilling into ink, foggy structures forming a similar scene… the vague outline of a bank in the woods near a creek.

"Bettany." Constantin murmured in Common. As the name echoed through the forest, his shape changed. The tall black suit of armor morphed into a more familiar leather gambeson, Constantin returning to more of his normal height than the towering Knight. "What are you doing here?" Constantin asked vaguely, almost staring through Bettany.

The shift in Constantin’s appearance was enough to give Bettany a fleeting moment of comfort, as he was no longer staring at a hulking figure with his dying friend’s face. 

“I’m here to talk to you…” Bettany said, still craning his head to look up at Constantin. “Do you know what’s happening?”

Against the monochromatic world, Bettany’s eyes stood out like two gold ingots in a bed of salt, radiating a warm glow. 

“What do you seek from me?" Constantin asked, staring through Bettany and completely ignoring any mention of his dying. It was as if he was almost there, but not entirely. A recording of him, playing on loop.

The robotic-ness of Constantin’s presence frustrated Bettany. How could he save Constantin if he couldn’t even converse with his spirit? He owed his life to Constantin, and he was too weak to return the favor. Too frail and foolish.

What did he seek? He sought his friend… he sought…

“Guidance,” Bettany replied. He needed to know how to be strong, how to protect the party while Constantin’s life lay in limbo.

“I need you to teach me… I need to be strong, help me. Help me, please.” Bettany begged.

The spectral visage of the Barovian Paladin slowly knelt, bringing himself closer to Bettany's height. One of his large, gloved hands reached out, an index finger extending and tapping on Bettany's chest with a dull thud.

"Strength... Is here." Murmured the ghost. "Love is strength. Trust is strength. Isolation.... Is safety." He muttered, his voice a low, rumbling whisper. He cast his ice-blue eyes up to Bettany, and the Druid could see that they almost... Came alive. As if he was truly speaking to Constantin, rather than the emotionless guard, the keeper of the spirit.

“Strength begets burden..." The specter continued, before taking a deep breath.

“Guardians are chosen not because they are the strongest or the wisest... But because they have the force of will to bear the burden." Constantin intoned softly, looking up to Bettany with some sort of lucidity. The Druid could almost believe that he was truly speaking to his friend. "I cannot teach you to fight like me. I can only remind you of what you already know, младший брат."

Tears rolled down Bettany’s cheeks, “You’re hurt really bad… you’re hurt really bad and it’s my fault.”

Bettany buried his face in his hands, guilt overwhelming him.

“I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to help you.”

The spirit of Constantin removed a heavy leather glove, revealing a hand with a deep scar on the palm, as well as the brand of a chain around the wrist. This large appendage reached up to Bettany's face, wiping a tear as it fell, before gently patting the Druid's cheek a few times. Bettany initially winced at the touch but eventually found solace in the gesture.

“It was my duty." Constantin said, with a wan smile. Lucidity faded slightly from his gaze. "What must I teach you?" The specter asked, rising to his full height again.

Bettany looked to his feet, pondering. He scuffed his toe on the ground, the movement causing ripples in the surface of his illusion, rings spreading from the point like blood in water.

“What do I need to do? How do I learn to fight? How can I protect the party if I’m physically inept?” Bettany asked, gaze flicking back up to Constantin. It was now that Bettany felt the weight of his dual sickles strapped to his sides. He fumbled with the leather clasp, undoing the gold fastens and holding the weapons in each hand.

“Teach me more. Teach me to use these so that this doesn’t happen again.” Bettany instructed, his knuckles whitening on the wooden handles.

Constantin shook his head, smiling sadly.

 “I cannot teach you to be strong like me.” He rose to his full standing height. 

“We are different, you and I. You are strong in ways I am not.” His ice-blue eyes locked on Bettany’s, commanding focus. 

“Nature is your strength.” He intoned somewhat cryptically. “Your nature is your strength.”

Bettany protested, “I don’t understand. I can’t use nature to save the party. I- I can’t fight with it.” Bettany shook his head, his heart pounding in his chest as he turned his back on Constantin, fingers gripping at his long hair. “I can use spells, sure, but that’s… that's it. What if we enter another dead zone? I’m useless. I can’t even turn myself into something strong, just a stupid fucking bat! I turned into a panther once and I passed out, I passed out and you died.” Bettany’s words came out choppy as his quick breath turned to sobs, tears rolling down his cheeks as he sank to his knees, entirely crying now.

The hulking form of Constantin knelt beside Bettany, placing a hand on his shoulder again, pulling him upwards to meet his gaze. “I chose my fate.” He said plainly. “I died protecting what I cared about.” He continued. A moment of silence passed, as the dream form of Vasiliev smiled sadly. “You did all you could. You grew. Trees snap in storms, yet the roots remain... New life blooms. Weather this storm, little brother. You will grow firm bark and sharp branch again. Lean into your nature. Become the fanged beast again, and fight harder. Fight longer. Train as I do, and grow like you see the world grow.”

Bettany continued to cry, shaking his head. 

“I didn’t get to spend enough time with you… I wish I could have learned more of what you could’ve taught me, I should’ve listened to you more… you were my brother, the brother I never had until I did. And now you’re gone.”  Bettany stammered. 

Constantin sighed. “That is not true, little man.” He replied, tapping Bettany’s chest. “I am here. Just as you and your companions will always remain here.” He said, patting his own chest. “When you roar with the fury of the Bear, know I am there with you, lending you my might. As you walk these lands, I walk with you. I am Barovia, and Barovia is me. The ground is my flesh, the trees are my bones. The mist is my lifeblood. You are in my home, and my spirit will always go with you in this place, in life and in death.” 

His image began to wane slightly. “Father once said that a man would not die... So long as his name is spoken. As long as you remember me, little brother, I will be with you.” Kneeling there, Constantin did something inconceivable to those who knew him in life. He extended his arms, beckoning Bettany forward. 

Bettany threw himself into the paladin’s arms, burying himself into the thick leather jacket that clad Constantin’s torso. “Thank you… thank you for being my brother.” Bettany’s words were near unintelligible as he cried. The weight of Constantin began to fade as the dream began to weaken. Bettany desperately clung to Constantin, knowing this could very well be the last time he’d be able to... Even in this state of illusion. It could be the last time the two spoke. 

Bettany’s physical body stirred, the connection weakening as he woke. The world faded like fabric washed out from the sun, the surroundings blurring as it drew to an end. “I’m not ready,” Bettany said in a desperate attempt to stop what he knew he couldn’t prevent.

The last words Constantin said to Bettany rang in his mind, even as he awoke next to the Barovian’s dying body.

“I’m proud of you, little bear.”

#lore #constantin #constantin vasiliev #bettany #bettany blackstarr #in-campaign #curse of strahd #d&d #artist support

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Besties.

Haunted Nights - Constantin and Bettany

Night fell on the Svalich Woods like a wool blanket, smothering and heavy. The pines reached into the sky like sharp pillars of foliage, casting shadows on the dancing embers of the firelight. The fellowship of freaks that had come to Barovia at the behest of Yvan Alvanja had settled in a small tent circle in a clearing in the woods. The night was quiet, with naught but the gentle caw of an overhead raven and the crackle of the dying fire to punctuate the night. The fellowship found themselves asleep, curled into various sorts of bedroll and tent, some of their more liberated companions preferring to sleep under the stars, where perhaps a sleepless dragon may seek some comforting company, or a brickish friend may seek wisdom and guidance. Alas, for most, it was a night of pure, restful sleep. To some degree of misfortune, though, that was not the case for all in this small band.

 It was rather unfortunate that a being as existentially terrified as Bettany Blackstarr couldn’t escape torment even in sleep. Jolting awake from a nightmare was not uncommon for the young Druid, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with. Walks helped, but even then he couldn’t escape his own thoughts. On this night, he found himself wandering far from camp and into the woods, unable to escape the suffocating feeling of fear. He wandered through brambles of plants, forcing himself to pay great attention to each species and variety as an attempt to dial the anxious feeling in his stomach and chest down.

It wasn’t working.

Frustrated, Bettany hurtled a sickle at a thick tree. It’s golden blade sticking into the oak wood with a twang, the metal vibrating slightly from the impact. Bettany gasped in horror at what he’d done, racing to retrieve his weapon. He pried it gently from the thick bark, closing his eyes and placing a pale hand over the wound in the trunk. A shimmering blue light radiated from his palm, a glittering energy spreading across the tree, healing the damage done by the sickle. Once  done, Bettany leaned towards the majestic creature and pressed his forehead against its strong base, closing his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyelashes fluttering. A pain in his voice that would lead one to believe he wasn’t only speaking to the oak tree.

Laid out on his bedroll, Constantin Vasiliev was struggling to find restful sleep. Wracked as always with brutal nightmares, he tossed and turned. For one so concerned with life, the looming threat of death hung ever in the corners of his mind. As he often did, Constantin awoke with a scream, a howl of terror accompanied by a violent thrashing from his sleeping spot, reaching for the hammer that he always kept at hand, alas, his fingers grasped naught but dirt.

Damned night terrors.

Never a moment’s rest.

Shooting up to a seated position, heart pounding, Constantin cast accusatory glances at the other bedrolls around the fire, before memory came rushing forward. Yvan had stowed his hammer in the cart to prevent him from doing exactly this and clubbing one of his poor companions in his panic-ridden flailing. Rising from his bedroll, noting the lack of disturbed sleep, his eyes crossed the Tiefling, the Vistana and the Dragonborn, before noting the absence of the Druid. Eyes narrowing distrustfully, Constantin marched as quietly as an armored titan of a Barovian could to the wagon, rummaging for his hammer. Unable to locate it under the piles of possessions and provisions, he elected to grab his oft-forgotten Spear, slinging it across his back before trudging off into the woods, running his hands through his hair.

His mother had always said that walks in nature were good to clear the head. Her gentle words rang in his mind as he strode off in the direction of the treeline.

A shout snapped Bettany out of his head, he jumped, conjuring a spell at his fingers, pale blue light glowing from his hands, magical tendrils swirling around his palms. He crept closer to the noise which had come from near the camp, his footsteps cautious. Relying on his darkvision as his golden eyes flicked about, searching for any disturbance. 

A hundred or so feet in front of him, he could hear the sound of heavy footfall feigning quiet steps. A bush shook, and Bettany flicked his hand at it, his body hunching into the movement, bracing for an attack. At the flick of his hand, magic spread from his fingers,  conjuring a thick and spiked vibe from the earth. The plant twisted and coiled as it raced towards the bushes, its sharp point stopping just between a pair of startling ice blue eyes.

Constantin.

“What are you doing?” Bettany demanded, maintaining his braced-for-combat  stance, the sharply thorned vine unwavering from Constantin’s face, though Bettany shook like he was prepared to bolt away at any minute.

”I would ask you the same, small man.” The Barovian snarled in his trademark thick accent. “Do you hide in the woods to threaten me? I have faced sharper fangs than this little flower you conjure." Constantin had grit his teeth and rested a hand on the haft of his spear. He breathed heavily, and it looked as if he had been sweating. Behind him, the camp seemed undisturbed save for the discarded bedrolls of the participants in this confrontation. "It is not safe out here, especially for a solitary adventurer.” The man rebuked the Druid. “I do not know your intent, murderous or otherwise..” he said, staring coldly at the natural weapon in front of his face, before continuing. “But these woods are harsh and unforgiving in ways I doubt you are prepared for.”

At being called “murderous” Bettany let out a panicked breath, his face contorting as he tried to control his emotion.Bettany thrust his arm to the side, a gleam of blue light caused the vine to fall to the ground, laying still in a heap at Constantin’s feet… though Bethany’s guard was still raised.“I’m more capable than you think.” Bettany snarled, his hunched shoulders tensing as his fists trembled at his sides. 

A tense moment fell over the men, the tense Druid meeting the Paladin’s trademark brutish gaze.

“I guarantee that I have some fangs of my own that would shock the likes of even you.” Bettany insisted though the threat was empty as the Druid seemingly swayed on his feet with exhaustion. Bettany’s eyes narrowed as his lip curled, “you say I’m murderous, yet why do you sneak behind  an unarmed man into the woods alone at night?” Bettany’s lip quivered pathetically. It was clear he was throwing empty blows, as his hands remained tightly at his sides, despite every opportunity to draw his sickles or conjure a spell. He was emotionally and physically exhausted, his words were the only fight he had in him.

Bettany’s comment of his own capabilities garnered little more than an uncaring shrug. “I believe you.” He said… mostly convincingly. “If you are not here to strike me down, then your presence in these woods is of no consequence to me.” Constantin made to trudge off, pausing after he’d walked about ten feet further into the woods. He did not turn to face Bettany, but the Druid could hear him heave a scoffing sigh. “If you must know, I am going for walk to clear my head. Sleep is not my friend this night.” Constantin grunted.

“Please don’t go!“ Bettany blurted, desperate to keep the paladins company, “I- I couldn’t sleep either… I can’t sleep ever. I’m haunted at night. Please don’t leave, I don’t wanna be alone, please.”

Bettany breathed heavily, his body slumped inwards. The small man let out a choked sob, as he sank to his knees. The dewy grass wetting the fabric of his trousers where they connected with the cold ground. “I’m not a bad person, I’m not a murderer- I’m not. I’m not.” Bettany insisted, more so to himself than to Constantin. A darkness passed his face as he glared at the ground.“Please,” he begged once more, craning his neck to look up at Constantin.

”You are as much a murderer as I am three feet tall.” Constantin replied, turning to glance at the small human. The rumbling sound that escaped him could only be described as a chuckle.

He observed Bettany plead for him to remain, falling to his knees with such impassioned sobs. His face turned from that of exasperation, softening into as gentle a look as his rough-hewn features could muster.

”I too am haunted, in the twilight hours. Come along.” He said, wasting little time as he set off through the forest.

 Bettany rose to his feet hesitantly, still sniffing quietly as he followed behind the large Barovian. “Where are we going?” Bettany asked, wringing his hands nervously, his shoulders hunched in defeat. Constantin spared him a glance. ”Only the forest knows.” The man replied plainly, ducking under a low-hanging branch. “The woods hold danger, but they also hold peace.” He mused sagely. ”You say you do not sleep at night. That you are haunted. Why?” Bettany paused, licking his lips anxiously. “I wasn’t always like… this,” he gestured to the scars on his face, “my past isn’t something I recall fondly. I’ve always dealt with nightmares, but after what happened they’ve become worse… and more frequent.”

Bettany frowned, turning to look up at Constantin, “what haunts you?” 

”The devils of my past.” The Barovian remarked plainly, as he pushed a collection of branches aside to usher the Druid through, rather than pushing past and letting them kick back into his face. ”It is of no consequence now.” Constantin lied, and not particularly convincingly. Bettany nodded and it was clear to him that Constantin was lying, but he knew better than to pry an answer from him. Bettany gave an appreciative nod of his head to thank Constantin for holding the branches aside for him.

“Existence can be cruel that way,” Bettany shrugged. His yellow eyes flicked up to look at the moon through the thick forest canopy, dark trees stretched towards the inky sky, the pale light of the moon shining through the trees gently illuminating the forest floor. “Should you ever decide to talk about it?” Bettany faltered, quickly feeling uncomfortable. “I mean… it’s best not to go at things alone I’ve been told. A bit hypocritical of me to say but… I just thought I’d throw it out there.” 

Bettany’s pale nose and ears flushed slightly, feeling embarrassed and off-put for being so open… especially with someone he’d just met. ”That is not an option for me.” Constantin countered, again taking the lead. He’d not given Bettany so much as a glance since he’d started walking. He continued on until the sound of running water echoed through the trees. He came to a stop at a small bank, where a creek babbled through the forest.

”An idealist will tell you, ‘do not go it the alone, confide in people’. Trust is a knife and the scabbard is often your back.” The man spat, disgust tinting his voice. He took a seat near the bank, producing a handful of objects from a pouch. He took a moment to make and light a makeshift torch from a nearby stick, planting it in the ground to illuminate the spot in which he has chosen to sit, a stark reminder of his lack of darkvision. “I don’t disagree with you.” Bettany admitted, standing just behind Constantin. “My mother was an idealist… that didn’t work out for her.”

Bettany sat down next to Constantin, about 4 feet away from him. He pulled his legs inward, folding his arms around them as he looked over the creek.“This past year I’ve been alone. I must say it’s definitely the longest I’ve gone without being hurt by someone.” Bettany scanned the landscape in front of them. “Now I’m the only one to blame for my pain.”

”In solitude, safety and danger are in balance. You are master of your own fate, hm?” The Barovian waxed philosophic as he hiked his spear over his shoulder, point towards the creek. He sat still, staring intently, as if inviting the Druid to speak and fill the void.

Bettany paused, allowing the silence to fill the air.“I don’t believe in fate. Not really… I respect your faith in your god but. I just cannot believe that everyone and every thing has a destiny… a predisposed path. This?” Bettany gestured to the  sprawling forest around them. “This is my truth. I believe in nature, in the power of the natural world.” A small smile crossed his lips as he turned to the paladin. A brief moment of content before his face fell again. “How do you keep your faith? After everything that’s happened and is going to happen to you and to the world.” Bettany asked, his thin brows creasing.

”Without the Morninglord, I am nothing.” The Paladin replied. “My father served the Morninglord, as did his father before him. The Vasiliev men carry on the tradition of faith and service.” Constantin drove his spear into the water, cursing as the spearhead re-emerged empty. “Would you fault a man for clinging to a dim candle in the twilight if it was all he had, and all he had ever known?” The man posed the question to Bettany, sparing him a side glance. “Well that’s different, isn’t it?” Bettany countered, frowning. “At least a dim candle you can see.” 

Constantin snorted.  "In the literal sense, yes, but in the sense of metaphor, where the candle represents hope in a hopeless world, it is not so much the different, hm? The twilight represents the overwhelming hopelessness of this world. This land. The candle represents the radiance of the Morninglord and the works of his faithful, that which seeks to better the lives of those who have so little. The man holding the candle is the soul of Barovia, its people."

Bettany shook his head, “it’s lost on me… and I mean no offense, Constantin. I just can’t understand it.” He squirmed, “I respect and admire you, I just… I don’t have  your faith.” The man tugged at his gloved left hand, pulling the leather from it, exposing the ghastly scarred grayish blue skin beneath. “Though in some sense… I understand clinging to something that gives you reason to keep going. I wish I had something like that.” Bettany traced a finger along his palm as he spoke.

The Druid and the Paladin shared a silent moment, eyes cast to the ground and sky. ”What drives you, small man?” Constantin asked, rubbing his chin in thought as Bettany made his point.

”Surely there must be something beyond fear and gloom. There must be a force within you that says - ‘this day I choose to live. I will rise from my bed and partake in creation.’ - why else would you.. be?” Bettany thought for a moment. “I suppose the earth is why I am… I live for nature, to protect it in any way that I can, but other than that?” He almost laughed, snorting through his nose bitterly. “My drive is fear… I’m afraid to die, to be more dead than I already am. I’m afraid of death, I’m afraid of life. I’m not living but I’m not dying, I’m just in the between, merely surviving.“ Bettany frowned.

“It’s not a happy story, I know… but it’s my truth.” Bettany admitted. “But these past few weeks that I’ve been with the party? I’m afraid of everything… but mostly I’m afraid of being alone. And that’s what scares me the most,” His citrine colored eyes flitted up to Constantin’s, gleaming in the darkness like a cat’s eyes would.

“I’m scared that I want a family… that I want to be around people, despite them failing me time and time again. I’m afraid to need someone other than myself… and I’m scared of how strongly I care for each of you after knowing everyone for less than a month.” The Paladin laughed aloud, shaking his head and sighing. ”You’ve known me less than a week. I don’t think you have to worry about getting attached.” Constantin said flatly. “I doubt you and your companions will keep my company very long.” He glanced at the torch, watching the fire intently. 

“You bear a great burden. I see it in your eyes.” He says, with a bit too much familiarity. As if he’d seen it in a mirror. “These friends of yours. Lean on them. They care for you more than you probably realize.”

Bettany blinked. “I’m sure they share the same sentiments for you,” Bettany replied, “As do I. You saved my life, remember?” A calm had been reached, the Druid had found comfort in the Paladin's strength, in the solace of his words. ”It was my duty.” The Barovian retorted. “As was burning the cultists' mansion to the ground.” A shaking in the bush caught the Paladin’s attention. He turned casually to glance that way as a droopy bloodhound moped through the underbrush, having followed the two. Lancelot walked up to Bettany, throwing his weight against him as he flopped over, laying at the Druid’s side with a long exhale.

”Tell me. Why do you fear death?” Bettany thought on it, looking to the hound dog with a slight distrust before hesitantly reaching out to pet Lancelot’s head. 

“I fear death because it’s unknown. I think it’s from the uncertainty of what happens after you die. Being nothingness, forever.” Bettany bit his lip, “I don’t know how to explain it… it’s something I can’t put to words. It’s a fear that is ever looming, that I will die… and that there’s nothing that can stop it.” He scratched Lancelot’s ears, making the large dog huff contentedly. “And you? What do you fear?” Bettany pushed.

Constantin sat in silence for several minutes, as Lancelot quickly fell asleep and began to loudly snore, snuggling up tighter to Bettany’s side.

”Fear is death. A moment’s hesitation is a blade in your back, fangs digging into your throat, a fearful backstep is a step off a cliff.” Constantin mused, almost mumbling as he rested his elbows on his knees. It did not take an expert to understand that this was not a statement of bravado, merely an assessment of the mentality of a man whose entire life is a long war.

”I fear.. Being insufficient. Not being enough. When you fell into that spike pit, what if I did not catch you? You would have been impaled. What if I was not quick enough? Your tiefling friend, that quick-witted rogue, perhaps she would have been crushed under my full weight instead of, well, half of it.”

Constantin’s firm voice took on almost a rambling whisper, as if a dam had broken and the man was allowing himself a moment of vulnerability. “I do not have the luxury to question myself at every turn. Therefore I lock it with my fear. And I must simply trust that I will be strong enough, and I will not fall when those around me need me the most.”

Bettany remained silent, absentmindedly continuing to stroke Lancelot’s velvety head. “You don’t need to be worried about that. We can protect you just as well as you protect us.” Bettany murmured, “I know my words will not change your feelings, but I wanted you to hear that.” The Druid paused, taking a slow breath. “As someone who questions themself at every turn, I assure you that it isn’t a luxurious experience. Trust me.” Bettany’s face was tense. 

“And I do believe you will be there for those who need you, you’ve proven as much. In the time I’ve known you, you have been nothing but consistent.” Bettany sighed, slowly scooting a slobbering Lancelot off of his side, gently setting the sleeping dog’s head onto the grass. He turned to Constantin.

“I am not good with feelings… or talking to people, and I’ve never had anything remotely similar to a friend in my life. But I trust you. And I want to be able to help you. As one haunted man to another… so if you ever need my help, I’ll try my best to do whatever that might entail.” Bettany offered a meek and timid smile, his scarred face twitching awkwardly. He turned back towards the water, curling further into himself to account for the dusk breeze that rolled over the land.

”Your focus is best kept elsewhere. Barovia is a dangerous place, and I will not be around to protect you forever. “ The man countered. “But… The sentiment is appreciated.” He paused, the stony features of his face cracking into a faint smile. “Are you always so quick to trust people you hardly know?”

"I'm not quick to trust at all." Bettany shook his head, "so... this is a first." The Druid turned away from Constantin, resting his chin on his shoulder. "It's unusual,"  he admitted to the tree beside him. ”What changed?" The Paladin prodded, rubbing a smudge from the head of his spear with his thumb as he stared into the creek.

A moment of silence was interrupted by Lancelot huffing frustratedly, slowly rolling back onto his belly, rising lazily and meandering over to Constantin, throwing himself into the Barovian’s lap. “Beyond that, why me, of all people? Would that trust not be better reserved for your companions?” A moment of silence punctuated Constantin's challenge. “I don’t think it was an intentional act… I don’t know why I trust you, I just do.” Bettany shrugged, looking at Constantin, “you’ve proven yourself to be unwavering in the face of danger… I want to be like that.” 

Bettany blinked, “You’re strong in the ways I’m not.”

”The same could be said for you.” Constantin replied, idly scratching Lancelot behind the ears. “You see the world in a way I simply can’t. You trust, freely and readily. If we are both haunted, at least in a way, you are free.”  Bettany didn't move, closing his eyes as he listened to the water babbling in the creek below. "Ghosts and Poltergeists both haunt, but in different capacities... sort of like our situations." Bettany murmured, sighing deeply as the crisp morning air stung his lungs, sending a chill through his body. "Haunted is haunted, no matter how the spirit stalks you."

Bettany grinned wryly, bemused by his own wit.

"But that's enough rhapsody for now." Bettany spoke, leaning back into the grass, looking at the gray sky above. Constantin nodded, content to escape the topic of nightmares and pasts. “It will be morning soon. We must find food for the morning.” The Barovian said, driving his spear into the creek again. Bettany sat up, getting to his feet to join Constantin by the creek. “What can I do?” He asked.

”I imagine, child of nature, that the hunt is not your preferred way. Gather what you can find that is edible, for our morning meal.” Constantin replied, pulling a small fish from the water. Bettany nodded, skulking off into the woods. Desperate to find something for breakfast that was more suitable than fish.

The sky turned a light gray, as morning washed over the Svalich Woods. As the travelers awoke to two empty bedrolls, they set eyes on Bettany Blackstarr and Constantin Vasiliev emerging from the wood. Bettany with armfuls of various flora, a veritable salad of the finest the woods had to offer, a bloody but seemingly uninjured Constantin carrying the body of a large deer over his shoulder, more than enough meat for the fellowship of freaks to partake in a freshly-caught meal. The grasp of night now lost to the light of day, the haunted ones found themselves free of their burdens, instead bearing a thread between them, a knot of brotherhood tying them together in ways originally unforeseen.

#lore #constantin #constantin vasiliev #bettany #bettany blackstarr #trauma #nightmares #curse of strahd

[sh4rkb0y-004]

Me when I torture my characters 💞✨💅🏻

Sticks and Stones - Bettany Blackstarr

“I HATE IT HERE!” Bettany screamed, The six-year-old had marched into the cottage and thrown his school bag onto the floor with a clatter. In the kitchen, Hazuleth and Arteana jumped at the commotion, turning their large feathered heads toward the arrival of their fuming son.

Hazuleth was the first to note several large welts speckled on his pale skin, Arteana was more concerned with his tattered trousers and muddied shirt. “Oh, little one, what happened?” Hazuleth asked, setting down her rolling pin as she hurried towards her son, attempting to cup his face in her hands. Bettany pouted, angrily stepping away, tears brimming in his butterscotch-golden eyes.

“I’m never going to school again!” Bettany stated, huffing before marching towards the stairs and loudly stomping to his bedroom on the second floor. The two women could hear the door slam behind him, as the ivy vines that grew around the house wilted slightly.

Arteana cast a bitter look at Hazuleth, returning to the kitchen to do the dishes. “I told you sending him to school was a bad idea.” 

Hazuleth scoffed, “He’s a sharp boy, dear, There was only so much the two of us could have taught him- he was already out-reading the two of us combined when he was four years old!” 

Arteana turned to Hazuleth, throwing her hands in the air, “his education wasn’t why I didn’t want him to go!” she snapped, “Come off it, Hazuleth! You and I both know that others find him strange!”

Hazuleth frowned, setting down her cookware once again to cross her arms and look at Arteana. “The town accepts him, everyone in the village pays him no mind, he’s our son.” Arteana hooted, “Come on, you’d have to be a bloody idiot to think that. People talk behind closed doors, dear. While they allow him to live here, there’s no doubt in my mind that they’d rather not have a little druid human boy running around in their village. The town and the elders accept him, sure, but they don’t like him.” Hazuleth clicked her beak, her feathers ruffling with annoyance, “Oh hogwash.”

The snowy owl slammed the wooden spoon she’d been scrubbing into the sink, turning towards her wife.

“It is confirmed by how the children treat him… why else would children be so cruel to another child had their parents not instilled that value in them? The children act how their parents talk behind closed doors”  Arteana insisted, “for the gods’ sake, people talk and children listen.”

Hazuleth bristled before sighing in surrender, “You’re right… It just breaks my heart to see him treated this way.” Hazuleth’s head tilted towards the ceiling where the sounds of Bettany slamming and clanking around his bedroom could be heard from above.

Arteana took a deep breath, “I’ll talk to him,” she said as she made to leave.

“No,” Hazuleth held up a taloned hand, stopping Arteana, “let me handle this, dear.”

Arteana hesitated, but eventually caved with a curt nod, returning to her task as Hazuleth began to scale the cork-screw staircase.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛯☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Hazuleth knocked softly on Bettany’s door, he didn’t respond- but the furious scuttering behind the door confirmed that he was in fact in his bedroom. Hazuleth closed her beak and turned the handle, stepping into her son’s room.

Bettany’s room was a reflection of who he was, small but vibrant. 

Projects lay strewn about in varying stages of completion. That being said, the room wasn’t in disarray, it was an organized chaos of sorts. Bookshelves lined the walls, a ladder leading to his bed which was nested atop one of the larger bookstacks near the room’s large domed window. A large plant stretched its thin rooty tendrils down from the ceiling, its berries casting a lovely golden glow.

The walls that weren't covered floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves were covered in drawings. Bettany was a shy boy and seldom shared his illustrations with anyone, they instead ended up on his walls. Charcoal sketches of plants, fungi, trees,  and various creatures Bettany had found exploring the bordering Neverwinter Wood collected in his room.

Hazuleth felt her heart swell as her eyes fell onto a picture Bettany had drawn that was clearly of himself, Arteana, and her. 

Hazuleth was quickly distracted by the sound of a large object slapping on the oak floors. Bettany had moved a large rucksack out of his closet and had begun hurling clothes, paper, leather, and anything else he could get his chubby hands on.

“I’m not going back, I give up. From now on I’m going to go live in the woods with my friends.” Bettany didn’t look at her, instead focusing on shoving multiple day’s worth of clothing into a wicker basket.

Hazuleth frowned, she knew that her son’s “friends” were a myriad of potted plants that he kept in his bedroom. These plants had grown astronomically in size, their roots curving out of their terracotta containers and curling on the floor in massive tubes, their leaves and flowers had become the size of dinner plates. Most noticeable was how the once dainty rose now filled up an entire corner of the room, its stem thick with thorns the size of longswords, the sharp points threatening to skewer anything that got close to it. Despite how nerve-racking these plants had become, Hazuleth chose to pay it no mind- this sort of thing happened when Bettany got agitated. Plants seemed to follow his lead, mirroring whatever strong emotion he was feeling.

“I understand,” Hazuleth sighed, sitting down and helping Bettany pack, much to his surprise.

“Your friends would absolutely love the open air, the fresh breeze? Oh, it’d be paradise!” Hazuleth chirped, “But I worry they might get cold… what if they get hungry and can’t find something to eat?”

Bettany froze, halting in his mission as he turned to Hazuleth, “They photosynthesize for their food.” he squeaked.  

Hazuleth nodded, “Of course, my mistake… still, what if they get lonely? What if they miss their pots and the other plants they know?” Bettany bit his lip, frowning.

“Maybe they’d realize that when things get tough it’s nice to have a place you can belong?” Hazuleth turned Bettany’s chin to face her. 

“I don’t think you’re talking about my plants anymore, Ma,” Bettany noted. “You’re such a smart boy, little one,” Hazuleth laughed, clucking as she took in her son’s big golden eyes gleaming  in contrast to his pale face and dark hair, “So handsome as well.”

Bettany’s face darkened as memories from earlier that evening returned to him, “They don’t think so… they think I’m a freak. Zombie Boy they called me… because I was almost dead when you found me. They said I still look dead, like a walking corpse…” Bettany’s eyes filled with tears as he started to pack his bags again. Hazuleth grabbed a hold of his hands, gently restraining him from further packing.

“They said I should’ve died,” Bettany whimpered, “that I’d be better off as dust.” Hazuleth felt her heart break into pieces for her boy, and she pulled him in tight, slowly rocking him back and forth in her arms.

“Oh, my child…” Hazuleth spoke over his shoulder. Her beak clicked as she pondered her response

“You make the world better, my Bettany.” Hazuleth soothed, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. He sniffed and didn’t meet her eyes until his chin was tilted up by a feathered hand. “You are strong… you are a survivor. You are anything but a corpse, you are alive, my son.” Hazuleth insisted, her eyes crinkling upwards as she gazed upon Bettany.

“You’re alive.” 

#lore #bettany #bettany blackstarr #backstory #owl moms #child bettany #curse of strahd #d&d

[sh4rkb0y-004]

I know he’s throwing it back up in gods’ field of gloom- it’s what he would’ve wanted

Constantin Nikolaevich Vasiliev

Art by @chroncruik and @sh4rkb0y-004

Full Name: Constantin Nikolaevich Vasiliev

Age: 24

Birthday: April 27

Zodiac: Taurus

Myers Brigs: Architect, INTJ-T

Race: Constantin is a pale-skinned human, and a native of Barovia. Hailing from Argynvostholt, he has spent his life in the misty forests, and his adulthood wandering the country looking for work.

Height: A respectable 6'4".

Weight: 230lbs of pure Barovian beef. The man's got a muscle to fat ratio that would make Baldur's Gate bodybuilders cry.

Hair: Constantin's hair is a dark, raven black, but in certain light can appear almost dark blue, according to Yvan.

Eyes: A strikingly pale blue.

Class: Paladin, Oath of Vengeance

Parents: Nikolai Anatolaevich Vasiliev is Constantin's father, who he thought to be deceased around the time Constantin was 16 years of age. Recent discoveries have lead him to the knowledge that his father was in fact, as punishment for his revolt against Strahd, turned into a Vampire Spawn, a slave to the Dark Lord. Constantin's mother, Anastasia Vasiliev, was a wandering woman with a flair for the abnormal, gaining the scorn of the village, but that did not stop her from falling in love with Nikolai, the preacher, and bringing Constantin into the world. After Nikolai's death, they set out for a nomadic lifestyle, to escape the wrath of Strahd. Once eighteen, tired of the secrecy and running, Constantin defied his mother and struck out on his own, and now searches for ghosts of her presence in his quest to reunite with her.

Siblings: Constantin has no blood siblings, but he has one brother in the form of Yvan Alvanja, the Vistana man with whom he met and bonded early in his travels in solitude. Yvan's kindness and welcoming generosity quickly warmed Constantin to him, and as they grew closer, their bond forged itself in iron, earning Constantin a place as a welcome face among the Vistani with whom Yvan traveled, and a mark of brotherhood to Yvan scarring his right palm.

Heritage: Constantin is the son of a preacher, and the last in a long line of men who have rose up against Strahd in violent defiance. The weapons and duties of his ancestors have fallen to him, and he carries the weight of the Vasiliev name as a mighty burden.

Religion: Constantin worships the Morninglord, but like his ancestors before him, has entered into a contract with Sancus, swearing an oath of vengeance against Strahd von Zarovich, only free of it in glory or death.

Hobbies: Constantin carries a small handful of journals with him. In one is a handmade catalogue of the flora of Barovia, pressed into the pages and categorized, named and described in fine Barovian cursive, with surprising dexterity given the man's large, clumsy hands. He also carries a book full of musical compositions, blends of Vistani musical stylings with traditional Barovian cultural music, all penned by the Paladin himself, but most never performed.

Likes: The peace and solitude of nature, the comfort of a well-fitted suit of heavy armor, the warmth of a bonfire. Home-cooked meals from Argynvostholt kitchens and the security of traveling with a party that trusts him.

Dislikes: Constantin has an extreme distaste and contempt for Vampires and the undead, going so far as to call it outright hatred. He also holds the Barovian hatred of Vistani in deep contempt, as he calls them family, to a distant extent.

Strengths: Constantin's greatest strength is just that, his strength. The strapping young man's muscles are not just for show, as he is known to lift and carry great weight, as well as carrying around his large elderly bloodhound, Lancelot. He is also a well-read and analytical mind, though it is often hidden in favor of simple brutishness, but this analytical skill, combined with certain holy magic make him more in-the-know than he may seem. Combat Style: Constantin Vasiliev is a self-sustaining armored behemoth, a tank in every sense of the term. In concert with the crushing shotgun-blows from his brutal Warhammer, Constantin uses a variety of holy magic to lock enemies in direct challenges with him, support his allies and sustain himself in long brawls with holy healing to continue the fight beyond his normal limits. The Paladin finds his greatest potential charging headlong into an overwhelming opposing force, acting as the steel-clad spearhead from which his allies can follow through and back him up, or recover his body from atop the mountain of dead.

Weaknesses: Quick to anger, Constantin has some pretty significant issues stemming from a… Difficult family life, and the weight of his father's expectations, and the tasks set before him. He is stubborn, hard-headed, and not one to back down from a fight, especially if he finds it righteous. Constantin also struggles to relate to others, presenting an awkward and often asocial personality, one which the Vistani and few others have managed to break through to discover the true content of his character, behind his social barrier.

Goals: The death of Strahd von Zarovich is an objective that weighs heavily on Constantin's head, and has cemented itself as the endpoint of his journey. In the interim, Constantin's goal is to keep the small band of adventurers Yvan deposited with him alive and free of the worst of Barovia's influences. Background/Lore: Training Day Barroom Blitz Crisis of Faith Rest and Relaxation The Price of Defiance The Sins of the Father Vuk and Voron Of Snow and Song From Silver Mist He Comes

#dnd death #curse of strahd #d&d character #paladin #constantin

[sh4rkb0y-004]

Support my friend and buy a commission if you’re able!!!

this is my commission info! I only have 5 slots available as of today. please direct all inquiries to my instagram if possible.

reblogs are appreciated but not necessary. thank you for supporting my art! ✨💖🐝

- Clio

#artist support #commisions open #commissions #commission

[sh4rkb0y-004]

im here for the plot.and by that i mean queer coded owen wilson characters

#owen wilson

[sh4rkb0y-004]

She ripped my FUCKING PANTS!

This happened last night. Bettany straight passed out in Rorali's tent and Rorali PROCEEDED TO PUSH HIM OUT TO HIS HEAD AND PUT A PILLOW ON TOP OF HIM AND PUT HER FEET UP AS BABY BOY BETTANY WAS HAVING A HORRIFIC NIGHTMARE.

He never catches a break.

#d&d #bettany #fanart #funny #meme #curse of strahd #bettany blackstarr

[sh4rkb0y-004]

Bettany core.

Druid: I am a friend to all cats. Yes even the mean ones. They have their reasons.

#druid #dnd #bettany #bettany blackstarr

[sh4rkb0y-004]

Prancing around my enclosure!!!

a new character for… something.. 👀

#oc art #original character #artist support #not my art

[sh4rkb0y-004]

Modern Batman media needs to stop pushing the “I fell into a well and now I dress as a bat.” Narrative. NO! BRUCE WAYNE IS A WEIRDO WHO SAW A BAT THAT FLEW INTO HIS ROOM AND THOUGHT IT WAS NEAT.

#batman #batfamily #gotham #only in gotham #bruce wayne #dc comics

[sh4rkb0y-004]

DONT SHAKE MY BOY

I want to put bettan t in a jar and shake him.

Bettany: I- I don’t understand this comment. In this scenario am I small in a normal jar, or is it a big jar and I’m normal? Why shake me? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry if I offended anyone…

Tyyran: don't be mean to him. >:(

#bettany #d&d #curse of strahd #bettany blackstarr

[sh4rkb0y-004]

Collin Robinson ghost posted this.

Thursday, August 17.

Officecore.

Picture the scene: an open plan. PCs (specifically PCs) equipped with Windows 98, a fax machine, shredded tin foil and the crumbs of homemade ham sandwiches littered across the desk, workspace dividers for colleagues to lean over and chat with mug in hand (unsolicited), an assortment of names such as Sandra, Michael, and Stephen, wheely chairs, crumpled white shirts, artificial plants, your very own novelty mug that reminds you, eternally, that you are with stupid. All this can be yours and more when you embrace all that is beige, bulky, and office to the core. 

It seems you really can yearn for anything. And with the pandemic reducing us to mere home dwellers for the best part of two years, it seems the stale romance of the office really is real. They are easy to mock, sure, but office spaces do indeed possess a unique look, feel, and energy—a vibe, if you will, and indeed must. That is why today we are reluctantly celebrating all that is #officecore. 

We hope this finds you well x

#energy vampires #collin robinson #wwdits #what we do in the shadows

[sh4rkb0y-004]

The sillies 😭

Some "Draw the Squad" things for the Party.

#tyyran #yvan #constantin #bettany #thalassia #fanart #draw the squad #ych #d&d party #d&d

[sh4rkb0y-004]

Fr, y’all didn’t pass the vibe check smh.

The real anomaly is why tf people are simping more over Miguel O'Hara (conventionally attractive male) than over The Spot (absolutely morally fucked up silly humanoid figure) is this Tumblr or Wattpad, guys?

#miguel o'hara #atsv #The spot #the spot atsv #You should be ashamed of your whore based interests

[sh4rkb0y-004]

Made a fan animation of Spot from the Spider-verse movie

I made this animation by doing the camera and key poses in Blender, sketching the base out in CSP, printing that out and using analog materials to draw every frame and scanning those back into the computer

[sh4rkb0y-004]

Veiled Superstition - Bettany Blackstarr

Trigger Warning: Blood and Gore

(This story takes place during events in the campaign)

Bettany had gotten into an unfortunate habit of sleeping as different animals, usually a bat or a cat of some sort. When he shifted, he noticed that his dreams weren’t as vivid as they were when he slept in human form. Something must have happened that night at the Kolyanovich’s manor, for he slipped from his cat form briefly, where he lay at the foot of Rorali’s bed. The tiefling acted as though she was annoyed by his presence, grumbling and protesting about it, though he caught her smiling while she thought he was asleep- she even reached down to scratch between his ears. Bettany dreamt of a garden, a large swing tied from the branches of a sturdy oak in a field of wildflowers, and thick bushes of thorns creating a wall from the outside world. Trees overhead shaded the area with green light, almost entirely obscuring the sky… it truly was a little pocket just for Bettany.

The garden around him shimmered, sunlight spilling through the green canopy of leaves above. Bettany let the light touch him, radiating in its warmth as he ran his fingertips along the thick ridges of the thorn bushes that barricaded the outside world from the ecosystem.

The bushes might be an eyesore to others, a nuisance due to their sharp thorns, but Bettany appreciated their strength. These tremendous bushes provided a strong fortress, protecting the other plants from the dangers of the outside world. 

Every plant deserves the opportunity to thrive and the chance to reach its fullest potential, whether it be a delicate lilly or a stubborn weed. He felt safe in his skin with the traveling party, which is probably why he accidentally slipped back into his own form. The brief moment he let his guard down was all his mind needed to fuck him up again.

“You feel safe?” A velvety voice hummed in his head as Bettany twitched in his sleep, “But they don’t know, do they? What would they think of you?”

The voice chuckled as the scenery faded.

The garden unfurled, spilling into blurred unfocused blobs like water dripping onto ink.

The sunlight that bathed the garden turned into moonlight, a large blue moon hanging low in the sky as the plants around Bettany’s feet withered and died. The ground cracked and warped, becoming uneven and bowed.

Bettany felt something rise in his throat, nauseated, he raced to the stone birdbath- purging into the basin. Bettany’s distress worsened when he realized that the contents of the basin weren’t stomach bile or vomit, but rather deep crimson blood that sloshed and swirled.

The blood oozed from his mouth, almost like someone had turned on a tap inside his body. He stumbled back from the birdbath, furiously trying to wipe the blood away from his lips using his sleeve, though it only smeared the gore across his face.

“What would they think, boy?” 

From the depths of the stone bowl shot a taloned claw, skeletal and decaying with age. The sickly skin blistered and tore as it reached for his face, puss-filled boils attempting to scratch out his eyes, he lept back, smacking his elbow on the rough ground behind him. Another hand broke free from the ground, a ghastly blue magic smoked around it as hordes of undead limbs erupted from the cracked earth. Dozens of Owlfolk in various stages of decomposition screeched as they hobbled towards Bettany, who attempted to call upon the earth to help him, but the swarm managed to grab ahold of him. Their beaks pecked at his flesh, talons piercing into his skin as their high-pitched cries reverberated in his ears. 

The Owlfolk were blasted off of him by a blast of blue energy, their bodies crumbling away into black dust. 

The surrounding area fell into darkness.

The voice laughed, low and scratchy, “Who could ever love a monstrous thing like you?” 

Bettany jolted awake, knocking his head onto the wooden bunk above his and Rorali’s cot. Holding back a yelp so he wouldn’t wake Tyyran who was snoring away in the corner, notably snuggling with his new silver lute. The strange displacement of weight on the bed alerted Bettany to Rorali’s absence. The only thing other than himself on the bed was Geronimo, who chirped softly in his sleep. He slid from the bed, making his way to the washroom that Ireena and Ismark had shown him and his friends on the way to the guest quarters. He quickly bolted the door behind him and slid to the floor, folding into himself- convinced if he was as tense as possible he could squeeze the fear out of himself. 

“Just a dream, it wasn’t real, just a dream…” He repeated to himself, heartbeat thudding in his ears. It was then that a pungent smell overpowered him…

He had a keen sense of smell, due to his drudic heritage and being a gardener, he had to be able to identify certain plants, poisons, and scents.

The sharp smell of flowers, sickeningly sweat, daring to lure him from sanity... Though the perfume couldn’t disguise the smell of death underneath- the dusty scent of centuries walking among the living. 

The Kolyanovich’s residence had visitors earlier, Two of them. And they weren't human.

Vampires. 

Vampires had walked in this house unnoticed and infiltrated a space where his friends had felt safe. And he didn’t know, he let it happen. He’d slept through the threat like a goddamned fool.

The stairs creaked, making Bettany jump. He slowly opened the door, peeking out of the restroom as Ireena and Rorali trodded up to the second floor, speaking in hushed voices. The scent trailed the two of them. Bettany’s large yellow eyes caught two deep puncture wounds on Rorali’s neck.

“Fuck,” Bettany clamped a hand over his mouth, scampering back from the door so as not to be heard. He’d never liked curse words, he’d always thought that they were a crutch for inadequate fools who were unable to express what they truly meant. 

But as the smell of two undead filled his nose, their scent lingering on Rorali as she followed Ireena to her quarters, Bettany appreciated the existence of curse words because that’s how he felt.

Entirely, and utterly…

Fucked.