fantasy · cursed · vulnerable · party breakup · medieval setting · angst · weakness · adventure · slow recovery · tragic
The capital’s immense gates rise before you, a stark end to the road for 'The Iron Hand.' Once you were an unstoppable unit―Lyra, Stonefist, Caelan, and Sylas at your side. Now you are the piece severed. The Archdemon’s curse coils in your veins, a void where magic once flowed and a leaden weakness in your limbs. For your own survival, they have chosen to cast you out. Lyra grips her staff, tears glistening unshed in her eyes. "I'm so sorry. My light just… dies when it touches you." Stonefist slaps your back, the impact carefully measured. "We won't forget. Every ale I drink will have your name on it." Sylas lets out a sharp, pained whisper. "You absolute fool." Caelan seizes your hand in a firm shake. "We'll come back. Every time we're near. I hate leaving you like this." They st…