Bold Blend for Fearless Love: Dnd Hand Cream REFILL POUCH - Vegan Blend of Rosehip Jasmine, Mahogany & Holy Wood - DnD Lotion

-----LOVER'S OATH-----
Scent Notes: Rosehip and Jasmine, Mahogany and Holy Wood
Essence: Soaking in an Oaken bath, Rose petals dusting the Water as the subtle tentrals of Incense burning nearby waft through the air
**Deep, Rich, Thoughtful, Ancient**

-Made with Organic Lotion and lightly scented with hand-blended Fragrance Oil. Cream is white, thick, and highly moisturizing. The skin-feel is like satin; never oily, greasy or heavy & soaks quickly into the skin. No mineral oil used. Ever.
-This fantasy-based product is Vegan and Paraben Free and Cruelty-Free. No Animals were Tested in the making of this Lotion or any of its ingredients.

TO USE:
Gently rip top part of pouch off and empty lotion into your preferred container. Discard empty pouch after use.

-Lotion Consistency: Thick, Silky
-Color: White
-Amount: 1.76 fl oz/50g
-Container: Pouch Refill

-IFRA Compliant for Category 5c. IFRA sheets &Safety Data Sheets are happily available on request by Email to archmagesapothecary@gmail.com

Ingredients: Deionized Water (Aqua), Cetyl Alcohol, Organic Helianthus Annuus (Sunflower) Seed Oil, Isopropyl Palmitate, Glyceryl Stearate, Stearic Acid (vegetable based), Kosher Vegetable Glycerin, Sodium Stearoyl Glutamate, Butyrospermum Parkii (Shea) Butter, Organic Simmondsia Chinensis (Jojoba) Seed Oil, Tocopheryl Acetate (Vitamin E Acetate), Aloe Barbadensis (Organic Aloe Vera Leaf Juice), Panthenol (Vitamin B5), Tocopherol, Xanthan Gum, Phenoxyethanol, Ethylhexylglycerin, Fragrance Oil.

-----THE LORE-----
In the jagged valley of Redmarrow, where bleached bones littered the dusty, dried earth and the roiling sun rarely pierced the ash-laden sky, the sound of war drums echoed across the ruddy cliffs. Two imposing figures stood beside their respective armies, motionless against the backdrop of the agitated troops. One, adorned in intricate silver armour that threatened to blind all who dared to gaze upon it. The Other, clad in shimmering black metal with which even the very light of day seemed to cower from. Though both's expressions were obscured by their armoured helmets, killing intent pulsated from their otherwise stoic form, oppressive and heavy.

Barely before the horn-blowers had emptied their lungs, the two Champions shortened the distance between each other. The Black Knight fought with the fury of a wild tempest, all fluid motion and merciless skill. The Silver Knight, an unmovable mountain with the surprising agility of a deer, met him with stoic force and grim precision.

Their first meeting was chaos incarnate—blood, fire, and the ringing chorus of steel. A clash so fierce, neither knew how long they fought before the horns of retreat forced them apart, each bleeding and panting, neither gaining the upper hand. As each army's troops retreated at the draw, the Champions slowly lowered their swords, loath to leave their duel unfinished. Alas, orders from on high must be obeyed.

With a flick of his blade and curt nod, the Silver Knight was the first to depart, spinning on his heel before leaping away. The Black Knight scowled darkly behind the metal visor as his watched his impossibly nimble quarry escape. Eventually, he too, turned with a huff to fall back into rank towards camp.

Their next meeting was three months later at the siege of Black Hollow. Again, blades sang, and again, they parted, undetermined. And again. And again. At Serpent’s Crossing. At Deadroot Grove. At the Bridge of Broken Kings. Each time, their duels stretched longer; their strikes eliciting smirks instead of snarls.

“You always come for me first,” the Silver-clad warrior teased once, holding his crimson-streaked blade aloft as he patiently returned to a guarded form.

“You make it hard to resist,” came the haughty reply, sparks flying through the air as his blades rained down upon the shining silver shield. "Always holding your ground. Never moving forward. It’s infuriating,” The Black Knight scoffed, derision dripping from his words, tinged with something indescribable. Before the Silver Champion could reply, the ferocity of the Black Knight’s twin blades seemed to double, and he quickly raised up his battle-scared shield once more.

And so, the lengthy conflicts persisted and the war raged on. Although every battle became bloodier and deadlier than the last, the two Knights began to crave it. Strangled cries of dying men and shouted orders faded like ash-filled smoke into background as their shielded eyes desperately scoured the battlefield for each other. It never took long.

Their blades sparked and slashed in vicious joy as they clattered together, leaving harsh, wicked wounds—scars on skin, and something deeper, darker in the soul. They never spoke outside of combat. Never met under truce. Never acknowledged the truth of what grew between them, beneath the thrum in their breasts.

Until the Oracle’s prophecy was revealed to all:

> "By the blade of one, the other falls. The war shall end when the blood of the beloved runs dry upon its steel."

The commanders heard it. Their soldiers whispered it. And thus, the Champions teetered upon the edge of their next battle, no longer certain if they marched toward fated glory or immeasurable grief.

The last battleground stretched ominously beneath a storm-dark sky, on the ruined plains of Narenth’s Divide. The field was cleared, both armies watching in hushed revere as the two warriors stoically stepped from their ranks towards the center of the field. No one would intervene.

They circled once, swords drawn.

“This is it,” the Silver Champion intoned, barely above a whisper. The clatter of his shimmering armour felt cacophonous against the air’s unnatural stillness.

“So they say,” the other Knight replied, tightening his grip on the keen long daggers held purposefully in each gloved hand.

Neither moved. Neither breathed.

“We should hate each other,” he murmured almost absentmindedly, as he scanned the Silver warrior’s impenetrable defences for a slight opening.

“You don’t.”

A wave of emotion unexpectedly rushed through his chest, and the Black Knight struggled to push it back down to its familiar, if frustrating, faint simmer. He stared at the other man appraisingly, almost lost in thought before wrestling back his momentarily lost composure. “…No.”

“Nor do I.” The Silver Champion’s soft voice feigned an unbothered lightheartedness, but the almost imperceptible quiver of his shoulders betrayed the depths of his feeling. His shield twitched to the left and the Black Knight pounced to take advantage of the opening. But, the warrior made no move to counter his attack. The Black Knight growled in aggravation, spinning on his heels to frantically slow the momentum of the ferocious attack. The dual daggers glanced off his silver pauldrons inefficaciously, but with a flick of his wrists, came back up to push against the exposed flesh of his neck.

And still, the Silver Knight remained unmoving; shining shield and sharp sword held loosely within his gauntlet’s segmented fingers.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” the Black Knight barked, teeth clenched as he pressed the keen edges of steel against venerable skin.

And still, the Silver Knight remained silent. Instead, he leaned forward, just enough for their shielded foreheads to touch; for a breath to pass between them. All of his fighting resolve was sapped away in an instant.

“I will not kill you,” the dark knight protested weakly, barely audible against the rumbling of the oncoming thunderstorm.

“You will,” was the whispered reply, “Because one of us has to.”

The moment hung between them, heavy as fate.

Then, as the first raindrop fell, they exploded into motion.

The fight was like none they’d had before—more desperate, more savage, more intimate. They struck with the fury of lovers denied, of men who knew this was their last dance. Cuts opened. Blood spilled. They faltered, pressed on. The world fell away. The storm raged on.

Until a dagger drove through the Silver Knight’s side.

He caught him before he could fall, helmets clattering to the ground in a cloud of muddy dust.

The Silver Knight laughed, even as blood bubbled from his lips. “Damn you… you were always stronger.” His blue eyes sparkled fondly as he smiled

“You let me win,” the Black Knight sputtered through gritted teeth, indignant tears welling, threatening to fall with each laboured breath.

The other man didn’t deny it.

He laid him down gently, like a precious porcelain figurine riddled with hairline fractures. The field was silent but for the rolling distant thunder and hissing of rain.

“You should’ve run,” he whispered sorrowfully, filled with regret and rage as a shaky finger brushed silver curls away from the blooded man’s cheek. Around them, a steady pool of red began to mingle with the rainwater above.

The Silver Knight smiled faintly. “Then who would’ve caught me?”

And then he was gone.

The Black Champion stood, daggers heavy in his hands, his twisted heart shattered in his chest. Around him, the soldiers slowly sheathed their weapons and dared not breath, knowing something sacred had passed.

The war ended soon after. Some say it was grief that healed the empire. Some say it was love.

But in that lonely ashen place where their swords last met, three blades remain driven into the broken earth—two obsidian, one steel—crossed forever in memory of a love that never spoke its name, but rang out in every clash.