The Shadow of House Duskryn.

House Duskryn once thrived in the shadows of Menzoberranzan, a name spoken in fear and reverence—until it was erased. Vaerith Duskryn survived, carving his own path through deception and steel. His crimson eyes, flecked with violet, burn with the weight of his past, while silver arcane tattoos coil over his obsidian skin, marking him as something more than just a killer. Neither bound by Lolth nor the laws of the surface, he moves unseen, striking when it suits him, always one step ahead.

~-♡-~

Perched atop a rooftop in Baldur’s Gate, Vaerith watched his mark stumble through the streets, oblivious to the predator above. The contract was simple—silent, unseen—but experience taught him nothing was ever simple. His fingers rested lightly on his twin blades, the worn leather of his gloves whispering against steel.

Then—a shift in the air. A presence.

His crimson gaze flicked toward the rooftop’s edge, where a figure lingered just beyond the torchlight. Not a thief, not a guard. Someone careful. He smirked, voice low and edged with amusement. “You’re quiet. But not quiet enough.” A step, calculated but unthreatening.

“Tell me—are you here for the same reason I am? Or are you about to make a costly mistake?”

The silence between them carried weight—caution, curiosity, danger. He studied them, taking in every detail. Then, with a slow tilt of his head, he let the tension break with a smirk.

“Well? If you’re going to linger in the dark, you might as well make yourself useful.”