A Darker Curse

Donning the Armor

In the heart of Elara’s garden, Cecil meditated in silence. His concentration was fully directed towards his breathing and the surrounding scents. In this place, the moon always shone, illuminating the garden almost as if it were daylight. The gentle sound of the river, the fresh air, and the magnificence of the place greatly soothed him, which he needed at this moment.

Cecil often sought solace here, finding peace and clarity amidst the tranquil beauty of the garden. It was a place where he could meditate and sleep, protected from the weight of his burdens by Sehanine's protective magic.

That night, the air was filled with anticipation. Cecil stood tall, his eyes bright and shimmering with the supernatural glow recently bestowed upon him during his resurrection. He had felt Elara’s arrival even before she crossed the garden’s bridge. When she entered, Cecil was already watching her, calm but alert.

Elara walked slowly, carrying the cursed artifact: the Dark Armor. This light and dark armor, created by the Shadow Lord himself, was meant to protect its wearer while allowing them to remain perfectly agile and stealthy.

Following the success of their mission, the high priest of Corellon had given it to her as agreed.

Crossing the silver bridge, Elara stopped, her uncertainty palpable. “Cecil, I offer you, another cursed gift,” she said, her voice heavy with responsibility. “Though it is light as parchment, it will weigh heavily upon your weary soul. Yet, this is the only way forward.”

“My will is resolute. I shall not falter,” he replied simply.

Over their encounters, she had developed a deep affinity with him—a true bond. For the first time, she was extremely worried for him. The emotion and guilt she felt deeply touched her, causing tingling in her hands and feet. It was no longer just about her goddess; it was about them. About her.

Cecil moved to the center of the garden and knelt. He was dizzy at the thought of donning this armor. Looking into Elara’s green eyes, tears began to form and slowly roll down his face. His throat tightened, and he could barely breathe. “First my eyes, then my heart, and now my body,” he murmured softly. “How far shall I go for you, I wonder.”

Hearing these words, Elara faltered for a moment but forced herself to remain composed, focusing on the task ahead.

She approached slowly, carrying the Dark Armor. She began to dress Cecil in the armor, piece by piece, each component fitting perfectly as if it had been made for him. Her movements were careful and deliberate, ensuring the armor was securely fastened.

Elara stood up, her hands trembling as she prepared to invoke a blessing. She raised her hands and began to chant a prayer, her voice a melodious whisper resonating throughout the garden. The words chosen were personal, openly sharing her heart with Sehanine. As the blessing took effect, the armor began to glow with a sinister light.

Suddenly, the armor began to adapt to Cecil’s body. The transformation was excruciating. Tendrils of dark magic snaked into his flesh, fusing the metal to his muscles and bones. Cecil’s skin convulsed as the armor fused with his being. He gasped, his body twisting in pain. His veins swelled, dark and pulsating, as if the shadows themselves flowed within him. His muscles strained and twisted, contorted under the pressure. The agony was beyond anything he had ever experienced, a burning fire that consumed him from within.

His vision blurred, the garden spinning around him. He could feel the armor tightening, molding to every contour of his body, its magic infusing his very essence. Blood dripped from his mouth as he bit down to stifle his screams. His bones cracked and reformed, the armor becoming an extension of himself, both a shield and a prison.

Elara watched in horror, tears streaming down her face as she continued her prayer. She could feel his pain, a visceral connection that tore at her heart. “Sehanine, guide him,” she murmured, her voice broken.

As the dark magic coursed through Cecil, his eyes began to darken. The moonlight that once shone in them faded, replaced once again by the unsettling shimmer of shadow. The blessing he had received during his resurrection was being stripped away, as if the Shadow Lord had directly defied Elara’s final words.

Cecil’s strength waned, his body trembling violently. Finally, the pain became unbearable. In one last desperate cry, he collapsed, unconscious, the transformation complete. The garden fell silent, the air heavy with the lingering echoes of his torment.

Elara knelt beside him, her heart heavy with sadness and guilt. She placed a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the faint rise and fall of his breathing. “Rest now, Cecil,” she murmured.

As the moonlight bathed the garden in its soft glow, Elara watched Cecil in silence. He had embraced the curse, bearing the weight of their shared burdens. Together, they would face the final trial, bound by a shared destiny and the unwavering hope that light could still emerge from the shadows.