Open Chronicles Hear ye Hear ye All Bleeding Hearts (A Valentines Thread)

[Irman Harefoot]

Irman moved in an awkward manner through the crowd and out into the side streets. His gait was that of a man at war with himself. For as much as Irman wished to pull away from his Amorous draw, each moment of lacking focus drew him ever further along the path of tugging red thread.

All around, others bound by this affectionate magic united with their spellbound others in scenes varying from sweet to saucy. In similar fashion, the pairings ran the gamut of looking no different from normal romantic couples seen throughout the city, to extreme mismatches liable to turn heads if not for most gazes being locked by unshakable love.

Most, save for Irman who through his struggles could see all of this playing out around him and hear every sweet nothing whispered through his painfully acute hearing. The things he heard chilled him, terrified him, and blended with the ethereal image of his magically compelled obsession.

“Will my sweetheart whisper sweet nothings to me as well?” Irman blurted out before promptly slamming his head against a wall.

“Ugh, it’s like I’m fighting myself… and besides, if anyone’s going to whisper sweet nothings it’s me!” *Slam!*.

Once again, Irman’s head made contact with stone leaving a crack in the wall Anna bit of blood on his forehead. The rabbit-man staggered, nearly tumbling onward as his pace sped up and slowed down sporadically— Until all of a sudden, Irman turned a corner and saw the figure from his mind jogging down the street towards him.

“Six above…” Irman muttered, his heart aflutter with a pit drilling into his stomach.

 

[Vyx'aria]

The moment the tavern door slammed open, Vyx’aria felt it.

Recognition.

Her spine stiffened beneath the cloak as the presence snapped into focus. The voice followed a moment later, sharp syllables in a surface dialect she did not speak, the cadence aggressive, demanding.

Her mug was still half-raised when the woman’s gaze locked onto hers.

Red eyes met brown.

That was all the warning Thraah received.

Vyx’aria moved with predatory speed, the table between them overturned in a violent crash as she closed the distance. One long-fingered hand snapped up, iron-hard around the woman’s throat, and drove her backward with brutal precision. Wood splintered as Thraah’s back hit the tavern wall hard enough to rattle tankards and silence the room in a single collective breath.

The impact shook dust from the rafters.

Vyx’aria leaned in close, forearm pinning her there, boots planted wide and unyielding. Her hood slipped back in the motion, spilling a stark shock of chalk-white hair down her shoulders. Unnatural, unmistakable. Several patrons recoiled instantly.

A drow.

Whispers rippled through the tavern like a spreading stain.

Vyx’aria’s grip tightened just enough to promise what came next. “Speak,” she growled, her accent thick with venom as she forced the words into the common tongue by sheer irritation. “Plainly.” Her red eyes burned inches from Thraah’s face. Her thumb pressed into the hollow beneath Thraah’s jaw, calculating, clinical. Despite the fury, the touch of her hand on the woman’s skin sent an unexpected surge of heat through her.

“Explain why you are using tricks,” she hissed, voice low and lethal, “or I let you bleed out on this wall.”

Thraah