Closed to Bardulf

[The last thing that Bardulf sees before he's taken is the foray of fight that's occurring to secure his safety. There's a penchant for a certain level of certained victory that Frulam has, and watching as they take her offer, she smiles wickedly to herself. There's never been a day in her life where she's been any different- from her younger days at Candlekeep as a yearning scholar, up until the day the great Wyrmspeaker proposed to her a type of life that she couldn't put down. To have power. To wield power. To bring destruction upon those who wished for balance. Frulam has only ever been this way; ruthless, demanding, all consuming. Her avarice had known no bounds and had only grown once she donned the purple robes.

And anyone with eyes could see the way that Langdedrosa Cyanwrath looks at her. A broodling... a possible lover. His loyalty to her is beyond the level of visceral that a half dragon ought, but it's her tenacity, her hatred that burns a bright and glorious path down the way for those to follow behind her. Frulam, of course, knows this, but cares little for her companions. For her, it's all business. There's no room for love in this twisted heart of hers, one that has seen too much and tasted the waters of Tiamat's eternal glory. She's too far gone, too broken to care about anyone that could try to reach her already dead heart. Maybe, maybe there was a time and a place for that in the past, but now? She only hungers to see those who wish to do good in the world suffer. She had learned the hard, cruel way- those that you open your heart to, those that are too pure and just in the world, are cut down by unworthy hands.

Unworthy hands like Bardulf's, and as he's crucified in position like the halfling was just a night ago, her look is cold and distant. Nothing can pierce her heart, not again.]

Tell me, Champion of Greenest.

Tell me your story.