#♡ · prose : zevlor !

[mysticrosed]

🎀 closed starter for @harpershigh !!

Zevlor felt a deep sense of gratitude for Jaheira's offer to stay with her family, along with the other veterans he once fought beside. The temple had been a refuge, a place to heal, but the glances from the townspeople had been hard to ignore—the way they looked at him and the others with thinly veiled disgust. Here, in Jaheira's company, they were given a second chance. A chance to serve again, to put their skills to use, whether the city welcomed them or not. It was more than he could have hoped for.

He worked hard to pull his weight, despite the aches that still lingered in his bones, a reminder of everything he had endured. He could scarcely believe he had survived at all, especially after the shame of abandoning his people. The memory of that failure haunted him. Sometimes, he felt he didn’t deserve the simple beauty of a sunset, the warmth of the light that touched his face, or the chance to live another day.

"Oh, Jaheira—I'm sorry," he said, startled from his thoughts. He bowed his head slightly, stepping aside to make room for her. "I was just taking a moment to myself. I'll get back to helping the others with the relief efforts soon." His voice faltered, a hint of shame creeping in. "My body… it’s not as strong as it used to be," he confessed, offering a forced smile. He wondered if he would ever truly recover from what he had endured. But even if he didn't, he was determined to lend his sword whenever needed, to fight until his last breath.

He glanced out over the city, a small smile breaking through his weariness. "Baldur's Gate is starting to look the way it once did," he said softly, his gaze drifting off, lost in memory. He wished he could do the same for Elturel, to see his people’s home restored to its former glory. He could still picture the city before the descent into Avernus—the towers standing proud, the lanterns lighting up the streets, the river gleaming under the midday sun. He longed to give that back to them, to make things right.

But doubt lingered. Was it possible to rebuild after such loss? To reclaim what had been taken? He wasn't sure. Yet, standing here, beside Jaheira, he felt the faintest flicker of hope—a belief that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to set things right.

[adorectrine]

"Your name, Hellrider. Speak your name."

The voice seemed to carry from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was clear and cold; a stark contrast to the oppressive heat and the thick smoke, which rolled over the dusty plane. In it, the red Tiefling's armour shimmered like a blaze of silver.

Fiery white eyes watched the adult, whom they had separated intentionally after Elthurel had fallen. Her clawed feet scraped across the floor and her wings were spread wide, blanketing the sky above her. Zariel was slowly wandering around the Hellrider, not taking her eyes off him. He looked new. Not like those, who had betrayed her. However, that did not mean he did not have to pay for what he had done.

"Tell me, young paladin", Zariel commanded, "What made you join the Hellriders? Do you really believe they would accept something like you? Or do they think that by taking you in, they are absolving themselves of their guilt?"

Zevlor’s breath was shallow, each inhale tainted with the sharp, sulfuric air of Avernus. He stood alone under Zariel’s penetrating gaze, her wings stretched out like the very night sky, her voice cutting through the roar of nearby flames and the echo of distant screams. The heat pressed in from every side, but Zariel’s gaze was cold—colder than any judgment he had known.

“My name… is Zevlor.” He forced the words past his dry throat, voice low but steady. He could feel the weight of her mockery as she circled him, her words pressing on wounds he thought he’d long since buried. Why had he joined the Hellriders? Why had he clung to the ideal of redemption so fiercely, even knowing the others viewed him as little more than a curiosity? A tool. A token of their atonement.

Her words echoed like a taunt in his mind. Did he truly believe they accepted him? Or was he just a pawn, a convenient way for them to ease their conscience? But he pushed down the doubt, letting his heart blaze with a raw determination. “I joined because…I have to believe there’s honor to be found, even here. Even in this place.” His voice was barely a whisper, but it held conviction.

He braced himself, every muscle tense, feeling the gravity of her judgment like a sword hanging above him.

[mysticrosed]

🎀 @ourwrittenstories sent a prompt for zevlor !!

for  a  flirtatious  starter to wynter .

The sun began its descent, casting long shadows over the Emerald Grove as the echoes of the failed goblin attack faded into the distance. The grove, though still bearing the marks of battle, had a sense of tranquility returning as the defenders took stock of their victory. Amidst the remnants of the skirmish, Zevlor emerged, his armor showing signs of the recent clash. He approached the center of the grove where the Drow was, her presence a striking contrast to the chaos that had ensued. With a respectful nod, he stepped closer, his eyes reflecting both gratitude and admiration. "I must confess, I’ve always admired those who balance strength with mystery. And in you, I’ve seen both in abundance. Perhaps, when the time is right, you might share a story or two over a more pleasant setting than a battlefield?"

[adorectrine]

Minsc nudges Zevlor with a playful grin and a wink. "Ah, Zevlor! I see you have good taste, flirting with the mighty Jaheira! Boo approves, and so do I!" - anon Minsc

Zevlor stiffened at Minsc's words, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson almost instantly. "Flirting? I—I assure you, Minsc, there is no such intention on my part!" His voice held its usual firmness, the one he used to rally his people and maintain order among the Tieflings. Yet now, it seemed to falter, fraying at the edges as he caught sight of Minsc's teasing.

"I—I was simply… recognizing Jaheira’s capabilities as… as a skilled warrior and an impressive leader," he continued, voice lowering as he stumbled over his own words. "Nothing more than... professional respect. Stating the obvious, really." But the faintest smile crept onto his lips, betraying him as he thought of Jaheira’s unflinching bravery and sharp mind.

Minsc gave him a nudge, and Zevlor's blush deepened, spreading to his ears. He coughed, trying to muster some semblance of his usual commander's composure. But, in truth, he felt like a young recruit again, fumbling and uncertain. He glanced down, then back up at Minsc, his eyes showing a hint of vulnerability beneath his usual hardened resolve.

"Minsc… I don't know what I'm doing," he admitted softly, his voice wavering as he leaned in, almost like he was confiding a secret. "Can… can you help me with this?"

[mysticrosed]

🎀 one - liner starter for @musezieren from zevlor !!

"Of course I am tired, but they are my people. I need to protect them."

[mysticrosed]

A smile graces the paladin's lips. He thought for sure he would never do so again, at least not genuinely. He burdened himself with way too much worries, guilt, and pain that are unnecessary. He still has yet to accept the fact that not everything is within his control. There are things he could not and the outcome of it is not a reflection of who he is.

Even until now, he still mourns the people he had lost when he got manipulated by the absolute. He still feels guilty to see another sun rise while those people he had abandoned are left to be forgotten.

Time has not been so kind and his body shows everything he had endured. "I guess it's best to leave it to the hands of the young. Perhaps it will make them appreciate more what they have here. Would make them fight for it when the time comes," his sentiment fell more serious than intended.

They wouldn't be around forever, and there's only so much fight left in them.

The glow easily takes his attention but he is quick to look away. He couldn't help but think it's impolite to stare too long, no matter how beautiful she looked.

Gods! Stop, he thought to himself. He should not be looking at Jaheira any other way that a fierce warrior to be respected...but, would it really be so bad for him to adore her? It's impossible not to.

"Thank you," he says as he reaches for the berry. Instant relief courses through him. But he did not want to stand up just yet. He likes her company. He wants her company to last a little longer. "That's nice, you know, druid magic had always curious me. It's very different from the divine magic we are blessed with. I hope my god does not strike me for this but, I find the way druid channel nature much more interesting..." he pauses to lean a little, "and fun," he whispers as if afraid of his god to hear him.

In those six months that succeeded the destruction of the Netherbrain, Jaheira had tried her best to make Zevlor feel welcome, to offer him a sense of belonging in this new, chaotic world. But she knew, deep down, that it wasn’t the same as home. It wasn’t Elturel. No matter how much warmth she extended, how much she tried to make him feel part of the rebuilding effort, nothing could replace the loss of his city, his people. That ache in his eyes was something she couldn’t soothe, not completely.

Jaheira approaches Zevlor, watching as the city slowly pieced itself back together. The clanging of hammers and the murmur of workers filled the air, but the weight of exhaustion hung over them both. She glanced at the tiefling, resting on a nearby bench, his shoulders slumped, his breathing heavy from the relentless effort. He’d been working tirelessly, just like her, doing far more than most would have expected.

She couldn’t help but think about how much Zevlor’s help had meant in all of this. Despite everything — his struggles, his doubts — he’d been a precious ally, unwavering in his duty. His strength had been a beacon when others had faltered, especially for the elturian refugees.

She, too, felt the strain, her body aching from the days spent in battle, in rebuilding. But Zevlor had carried a different weight, one she understood all too well: the burden of guilt, of wanting to do more than was possible. Watching him now, worn but still standing, Jaheira couldn't help but to feel admiration for the tiefling who, despite it all, had never let that weight break him.

"We already saved the city, let the kids do some work." She answers with a grin, sitting on the bench next to him. "Besides, I don't have the gift for architecture. Or the knees for that." She chuckles.

Jaheira settled down beside Zevlor with a soft sigh, her tired legs grateful for the rest. With a quick flick of her wrist, she murmured the familiar words of the Goodberry spell, her fingers glowing faintly with natural magic. Tiny berries appeared in her palm, warm and glistening as if just plucked from a sunlit bush.

She smiled, holding one out to Zevlor. "Here, try it." There was a warmth in her voice, an attempt to lighten the weight of the day's work.

[mysticrosed]

Zevlor approached Wynter, who was staring at Minthara’s lifeless body. Even amidst the aftermath of such a bloody fight, she moved with an unusual grace, her armor remaining mostly pristine except for the congealed blood on her hands. Watching her, he felt warmth bloom in his chest; she was a striking contrast to the chaos surrounding them.

He had admired Wynter since she first stepped forward to defend the grove against the goblins, her confidence and skill shining through. There was a strength in her that drew him in, a mysterious allure that he couldn’t quite articulate. Now, as she fidgeted with her loose ponytail, a fleeting look of vulnerability crossed her face. Did she even realize how captivating she was in that moment?

“Commander? There’s no need for such formality,” she insisted, her voice a mixture of lightheartedness and earnestness. At that moment, he felt unworthy of the title. He was trapped in the grove, unable to fight outside for fear that, in his absence, goblins would overrun it. Yet he couldn’t help but notice the soft purple flush in her cheeks, an echo of the excitement still coursing through her from the battle. He understood that feeling; he had lived it, and gods, did he miss it.

“Oh, well—umm…” The seasoned paladin found himself momentarily stunned by her invitation. He hadn’t expected her to accept his request, especially not in such an intimate setting.

A wave of guilt washed over him as he grappled with the yearning blossoming within him for her. It was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years, and his life had been nothing but battles with little room for peace—until now, in her presence.

“Who am I to say no to such a wonderful offer? I’ll see you tonight, then.” He smiled, excusing himself to assist the others. He made sure the children were gathered and the adults secured their belongings before their journey continued.

A night of indulgence didn’t seem so bad, did it? Just one evening to forget everything and enjoy the company of someone who piqued his interest wasn’t a crime, right?

Determined to make the evening special, he selected the finest wine they had available, justifying it by thinking that the best fighter who defended them deserved nothing less. He set everything up—laying a cloth on the ground and placing the bottle of wine as she had requested. As he mingled with everyone, he tried to find the right moment to ask her to join him for that promised solitude.

He didn’t want to take her away from the gathering, especially when the festivities were in her honor. Stealing glances at her from time to time, he gauged when might be the perfect moment to suggest their quiet escape.

Wynter was staring down at Minthara's dead body, lost in dark thoughts that she had thought she had left behind in Menzoberranzan, when Zevlor found her. For such a bloody fight, the drow was surprisingly tidy in her black and violet drow stealth armor, with only her hands covered in the red congealed liquid thanks to her preferred method of killing by way of sneaking from behind and slicing their throat. The only other thing about her that was out of place was her ponytail; the tie loose as white hair threatened to fall out and over her shoulder.

Nervously, she wiped her hands on her pristine armor before fidgeting with her hair as the older Tiefling made his way over. Something about him made the young drow feel like blushing school girl. He was strong, honorable, and loyal to his people. The way he commanded the attention of everyone in the room, including her own, was admirable and a very attractive quality. Gods, how did she tell him that she brought the fight to the grove for him? So that he could find justice in the long over due battle...

"I'd hardly call myself mysterious, Commander," Wynter swallowed a lump in her throat, her pale cheeks dusted with a purple blush, as she tried to remain cool and composed under his praise. Was he flirting with her? Surely not..." But if you want to know more about me...There's going to be a party tonight. Your people want to thank mine it seems. Perhaps two leaders can sneak away somewhere quite? Sharing a bottle of wine or two in pleasant company while the rabble rouses? Mmm, that sounds far more appealing than a party."