shandaumath

[shandaumath]

Vynlorin Shandaumath.

Art done by https://twitter.com/MissHartsArt

#my oc #commissioned art #vynlorin #roleplay #void elf #art #world of warcraft #ren'dorei

[shandaumath]

Aleron & Vynlorin

[shandaumath]

Vynlorin and Vorathien Shandaumath.

Artist: https://twitter.com/actualsailboat

#my oc #vynlorin #vorathien #art #commissioned art #world of warcraft #void elf #high elf #death knight #roleplay

[shandaumath]

[shandaumath]

Vynlorin Shandaumath by Kirkas Karaff Patreon rewards (https://twitter.com/kirkas_karaff).

#my oc #art #commission #vynlorin #void elf #world of warcraft

[shandaumath]

Vynlorin Shandaumath and his internal struggles against Void corruption. Artist: https://twitter.com/musetheart

#my oc #art #commission #vynlorin #void elf

[shandaumath]

[A response arrived late, but it did arrive nonetheless – and with it, a bottle of Dalaran Red.]

Lady Rosemarri Sunshield,

Forgive my late reply. Azeroth never stops turning, and sometimes it turns too quickly for me to keep my own affairs straight. We’ve recently returned from war, and war, and war, and the war never seems to stop. One after the other they come, and it’s exhausting.

But for now, all is well, and I hope to seize this temporary moment of peace. I appreciate the basket and have shared it with my court. Unfortunately I’ve never been one for festivities, but I thought I ought to return something. If you don’t enjoy it, then let me know so I can find something you do enjoy without wasting yet more wine.

Your letter leads me to believe things are well for you, and I’m glad to hear it. I’d like to extend an invitation for you to visit Withermore – or Dreadmist, though Withermore is far more suited for guests. It’s been a while that we’ve been sharing letters, but still we’ve never shared a conversation face-to-face. Bring any you’d like to join with you. Withermore will host them all, if you’ll accept the invitation.

Until then,

@agilneanrose​​

#letter #roleplay #i just saw the letter #oops

[shandaumath]

Delivered by courier along with a note. Lord Vynlorin Shandaumath,

Happy Nobleguarden! I pray the year has not been too chaotic for you.  Evelynn has once more included sticks of honey along with the decorated eggs. Spring has arrived and I am excited about it. We start off the holiday with Sir Folcard dressed as an egg-stealing goblin, it gets our keep's children riled up quite nicely.

Please tell me all is well on your side of Azeroth.

@shandaumath

#letter #roleplay

[shandaumath]

Vynlorin Shandaumath by Azra ( https://twitter.com/Azraillu )

#vynlorin #my oc #world of warcraft #elf #art #commission #I'm so behind on posting Vynlorin art oops #I have way too much of it anyway

[shandaumath]

When the Spark has Faded, Part II

((Continuation from Part I - Honored to have written this piece with @prismspark))

Vynlorin didn't register it for a time. The sound of his own grief resounding in his skull throbbed so loudly and so uncontrollably that he had been trying with great desperation to keep strong for Kessanella. But when her silence and stillness fell for too long, he thought she might have fallen asleep; and then he looked at her, at Martinenche, and the weight of her stillness set in. And the weight of his grief began to burst. 

All at once his face twisted fully, and his hand consumed it while his shoulders rocked through the tears. He gripped her hand so desperately as if to keep the bishop here in this world beside him, as if he was misunderstanding and she might wake up soon; but she wouldn't, and the elf was left alone beside her.

Martinenche turned as she heard the sudden outburst...And worry filled her expression. She took a few steps over. "Baron Dreadmist, is..." A pause, a glance down. Her expression looked as if it were suddenly hit by a thunderbolt. A moment's silence, before it sounded - like a car backfiring as she choked out a wretched sob. "Mother..." She dropped to her knees, reaching for Kessa's other hand, joining Vynlorin in furious squeezing. But it was no good - and no use. Bishop Prismspark would not darken the halls of the House of Nobles again. 

Martinenche herself found herself unable to find her composure for a time, head resting against the Bishop's knee. Finally though she pulled her head up, she stared at Vynlorin, pleadingly. "I..." She couldn't find the words, but her gaze was...grateful. A final moment in peace - it was more than most could ask for. She gave up tryin to find words after a minute, and slowly rose to her feet. "I can...I can tend to thing---To her. I..." She gave up trying to speak then, still holding onto Kessa's hand, hoping her point made.

Vynlorin barely heard the words. His sobbing resounded in his skull, and it stirred a terrible grief that he hadn't felt for a very long time. It dragged him into a deep and terrible loneliness, and for a while he sat alone in that darkness while still clinging to the gnome beside him. 

He suffocated under the words that he had hoped to say to the bishop who had meant so much to him, more than perhaps even she knew, but he couldn't say them when she was alive and now they were a chain upon his neck that strangled him with grief and sorrow. 

He wanted to flee and he wanted to remain, and finally he knew he should answer Martinenche -- first with small but wild nods, and then with words that fluctuated and cracked. "If you need anything--" A sniff, eyes raw and fluttering. "Tell me. Anything.”

Martinenche's jaw was tightly bound by iron at this moment - for anything other would break and cause the flood of tears to begin. She simply nodded her head when he gave the same to her, happy to avoid words. But then, the question. It let loose then, a puff of air, a gasping exhale as she sobbed. "She's...I...What do I do now? How do I - how will I..." She was left there, trembling - about to fall once more. "I...I can't bring her to her bed. I..." She looked at him, imploringly. "...Please. I...."

Vynlorin shoved his palm again and again to his eyes, and it was in Martinenche's weakness that he found some strength -- the strength to be strong for another. Though it was only a brief, fleeting thing, it was enough, and he nodded until the tears slowed enough for him to see. "Where?" Yet his hand still remained, firm against Kessanella's which began to grow cold. He wouldn't release it until the very end, whenever he might be forced.

Martinenche took another few moments to compose herself, soon releasing Kessa's hand. "I...The second floor of the apartments. Her bed. You'll...There are dumplings there I...Last night she mentioned, and I was going...I was...They were..." She slumped down to the seat burying her face into the palms of her hands, and losing herself in sobs.

Rubbing his eyes, it was almost a calming remedy at this point. He rubbed at them again and again, eyes red and tender from the cloth scraping against them over and over. Then he nodded, sniffed, and slowly, slowly, carefully moved to his feet; and the fear of disrespecting Kessanella set in. The grief, the guilt. As if asking for her permission he looked at her, and then finally his hand released hers and moved to her back with an arm under her legs. 

He sought to lift her frail and fragile form, and the weight of it tugged again against his heart. He wasn't a strong man, but she was such a tiny thing that he had no issue with it, and it broke him.

Kessanella Prismspark was indeed easy to lift up. By now she was as light as a feather, frail - nearly broken. Upwards she was taken - a woman who had held such weight...Now in death had so very little of it. She was there, in his arms. And together they began their last journey.

It was always a curiosity, wondering what someone of stature would keep as their last words. Those final ones would practically ring out then with each step. "You're not broken...You just need a little bit of polish." 

And with that, the journey was complete.

#moonguard #moon guard #roleplay #alliance #world of warcraft #wow #wow rp

[shandaumath]

misty morning

October 2022

#dreadmist vibes

[shandaumath]

Margarita Karapanou, tr. by Karen Emmerich, Rien ne va plus

[shandaumath]

Vynlorin Shandaumath by Naariel ( https://twitter.com/NaarielArt )

#vynlorin #art #my oc #world of warcraft #elf #commission

[shandaumath]

To be alive at all is to have scars.

John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent

[shandaumath]

Despite the early hours of the morning, where most of the lands were still far into their sleep, a single priest wandered about his clinic with a look of utter determination upon his face. Arms were full of various items and objects he'd ordered for restocking, shifting about; vials upon vials of mending potions, salves, tinctures, and solutions. Worn labels browning from age, thin layers of dust upon the glass. Age didn't mean they went bad, however. Aedin liked to think of it as maturing - much more potent than they would have been. Once glance around the clinic would tell the elf all he needed to know. He was just about finished with preparations and the office would be fit to open within the next day or so. Small beds for patients to sit upon, privacy screens made from a dark blue cloth lined with golden seams. Various herbs and medicinal flora hung from the ceilings to catch just enough sunlight from every window so they could flourish and provide a bountiful array. Shelves were stocked to the absolute brim with various medical instruments and mixtures, ready for any sort of job that may walk through the door at any given moment. The priest set the remaining vials and bottles down and brushed his hands together, dust pluming up into the air as he did so. He'd sniffle and brush at his nose a tad to stop himself from the oncoming sneeze. A glance about before he trotted over to the window and pushed it open, almost immediately a soft breeze bellowing through the small clinic, filling it's corners with the scent of fresh air and flora. It was a comfort he'd not had in some time, waking up to such a view that he'd not seen in months. Dreadmist was not the most.. Visually pleasing to some; but to Aedin, he positively adored it. It made his heart swell with joy, even if only for a brief moment. He'd grasp around and take hold of his harp, blowing the thin layer of dust off the wooden surface. The elf hadn't gotten a chance to truly play in ages, giving a testing pluck at the strings. Still in tune, surprisingly enough. Ever-so gently, Aedin continued to pluck at the strings of his harp until a melodic tune filled the air; somber in tone to fit the falling leaves and decay of the plants outside. The song would travel over the air and fill the otherwise quiet atmosphere, a gentle song for the early-morning workers to hear while they slaved away. It'd been so long since he'd felt such comfort. So long since he'd felt whole in this way. There was no regrets to his actions; just a simple thought of moving forward and pressing on.

[shandaumath]

Anaïs Nin, The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1923–1927

[shandaumath]

Rainer Maria Rilke in a letter to Lou Andreas-Salomé, published in Rilke and Andreas-Salomé: A Love Story in Letters