#ethalarian
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No More
Dawn.
Ethalarian was stirred first by rays of the early morning sun peeking through the flap of his tent and grumbled something under his breath as he rolled away from the light and pulled his heavy blanket up higher over his head. There he lay for a few moments longer, cocooned by warmth and unwilling for the time being to face the biting cold of winter. Eventually he could delay no longer: there was work to done. Heaving a sigh, the Blood Knight swung his feet out of his bed onto the cold ground and pushed himself upright into a sitting position and glanced over his shoulder, as though he half expected to see someone there. A foolish hope. He was alone in this tent.
Whatever disappointment he felt was fleeting, shrugged off as he rose to his feet and rubbed his face with both hands. Something caught his attention then, twinkling a pale blue-green in the morning light that hadn’t been there before. Oh. That’s right. He held his wrist up and examined his new boon in the light: a bracelet of shimmering aquamarine, delicately crafted, humming with power and swimming with unnatural rivulets of Light. There was a steady pulse emanating from the bracelet as well, akin to a beating heart.
“It’s said by our family it's like throwing a protective shield around those who are...most precious...you'll wear it right?”
“I will treasure this gift,” he murmured to himself as his fingers traced the path of the swimming Light within the bracelet, “and safeguard it with my life.”
The rest of the morning was a blur of activity as he dressed, ate, and held a conference with his Knights. There was tension thick in the air as the stakes of the coming battle dawned on all those involved: this would likely decide the future of the Kingdom. Many of the Archon’s armies would ride north in an effort to liberate the Dawnspire and entrap the Alliance who had dared strike at the heart of the Sunguard while the main host rode west and put down the pretender King once and for all. Grim business lay ahead of them and they each knew it. This rebellion would not be put down easily.
Following the meeting, the camp was to be broken down and the Knights set to their business of preparing for the coming battle. Ethalarian made for his tent late in the morning, prepared to gather what he needed for the coming days before the camp followers packed everything away and sorted it all. As soon as his foot touched the other side of the threshold, he was struck hard in the chest by an odd sensation that set him back a step. Confusion overcame his features as he glanced this way and that in search of some assailant or anything out of place.
Nothing. He was alone. Something felt wrong. He looked down. Velinor’s voice rang in his head.
"We craft these in the Dawnmeadow, made of Holy Water and Light. It's known to protect and enhance power of Light users. Though I no longer hold claim to the Light, I still wear them to remember my home and feel it's heartbeat on my skin.”
There was nothing. No steady pulse. No shimmering magic. No rivulets of Light running to and fro as it danced along the gemmed surface. A lump formed in Ethalarian’s throat as he lifted his arm to inspect his gift...and then his heart fell into a pit.
A massive crack marred the face of the bracelet. The magic was gone.
Ethalarian’s eyes went wide.
“No…” he whispered.
A savage tempest of emotions began to brew inside him. Fear and confusion and anguish all swirled together, crashing against the cage of his chest as the strength of his legs left him and he collapsed to his knees.
Not again… whispered a pitiful voice in the back of his mind. One that belonged to him. Please. Please not again.
How could this happen? He couldn’t fit his head around it, couldn’t make anything make sense. She was supposed to come back! Damn it! The winds shifted- fear and anguish coming together into a shrieking gale of rage that overwhelmed everything else. They had taken, and taken, and taken some more. When was the end? Where was the line?! How much more could they take from him?!
Ethalarian shot to his feet, howling with fury. No more. He would lose nothing else. No one else. Fire burned in his veins as he turned to storm from his tent and take the lead of his Knights with one thing and one thing only in mind:
Burn them. Burn them all with this hate until there was nothing left but cinders.
( @ocarina-of-what )
#phoenix wars#sunguard#world of warcraft#ethalarian#velianor#moon guard#rp#role play#writing#blood elf
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🔗 // otherwise restrain my muse
“No! Nono! NO.”
“But they said-”The small woman cut Ethalarian off mid-sentence, one arm wrapped around his waist and the other clenched up toward the collar of his shirt.“I know what they said.” She said as dug her heels in to the ground in a desperate effort to keep her Sunspear companion, who stood nearly a foot and weighed surely a hundred pounds more than she, from storming off across the bar.“I’m not gonna let you smash in a Phoenix Guard’s face! Besides, it’s fine.” Avie gave a smile. “Really.”
Ethalarian glowered for a moment longer at their agitators, fists clenched at his side, before he relented and allowed Avie to guide him back to their seats. He heaved a heavy sigh and reached for his mug, which had nearly met his lips when the haughty plumed fop decided to pipe up again.“What’s the matter, Blood Knight? Moth ear there has you on a short leash, huh?”
His mug slammed back down to the bar. Avie’s eyes went wide as Ethalarian shot back up to his feet.“Say that to my face you pencil-necked weasel!”
“NO!”
@immunologist )
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📢 Go nuts, be less bored.
📢 - tell my muse “stop squirming!”
“Ethalarian- would you-- stop squirming!”
Never let it be said that Avie had ever been very good at first aid, but when Ethalarian insisted on picking fights with the Phoenix Guard, there was little to be done except accept the help on hand unless he fancied a good bollocking from the Knight-Commander. Right now, that meant she was currently dabbing at a delightful looking shiner on his right eye.
“Moth-eared. Who do they think they are? I’ll show them fucking moth-”“You did show them. Now sit still for Belore’da’s sake before I blacken your other eye.”
Her tone was stern but it didn’t entirely hide the laugh that wormed it’s way through. His defense of her uniquely curled ears had been born of a good place- albeit stupid perhaps, but the intention was nice. She rolled her eyes as her brick-shit house of a friend winced again, giving him a pointed look.
“I swear Larry, you’ll take a fist to the face like it’s a kitten’s whiskers, but some antiseptic? Call the menders- it’s too much!”“I’m going to pour the next drink I buy you straight over your head.”
@trained-trainwreck
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Training Day
[Here is a collaborative story composed by me and @trained-trainwreck or Ethalarian of the Sunguard for a guild prompt issued to us!]
Between Ethalarian’s humour, Thanidiel’s boldness, and their combined relation to the roughspun lives of the People at their simplest - the soldiers managed to coax one-hundred-and-seventeen bodies from the able-bodied men and women of Kris away from their labors for two weeks of training.
Not the most desirable, but, still, leagues beyond what the citizens of this far-out province would be able to provide when placed amongst merely themselves.
The two had developed an accelerated program of training a unified fighting force during their southern bound travel. The volunteers ‘hind their backs from both military companies would partner up with the Citizenship. They would run through the basics on the first three days: of unity, of tools, of formation and movement. From there, the remaining thirteen days would be legitimate, all-rounded, exercises to stress the militia to its limits.
A trial of searing fire. So that no lashing heat in the days afterward may break them in the Sunspears’ absence, a remnant from their past allegiances and the severity of service demanded.
Thus, they had decided. And, thus, have they acted.
Thanidiel stands shoulder-to-shoulder with a dozen men in either direction. A row of glinting, near-blinding, gold in the sunlight; casted with periodic shadows of crimson and mellowed paint.
In normal circumstances, there ought to be some form of concern towards the thought of taking over another’s company in command. Here? There was no such thing. The people of both units were well-acquainted with one another and their Captains, for training skirmishes between the individual one-hundreds is a regular occurrence in the Dawnspire Training Ground whether on foot or horseback. Similarly, many of the soldiers around her harken back to those of the old Order; either attracted to the primordial names of Highdawn and Dawnstalker, or of similar mind to the resignations signed by the two former Knights.
In that light, the Phoenix Guard has no issue in seamlessly falling into step with the twenty-four to her flanks and the twenty-five ahead of them. Together, in the unspoken bond of blood and sweat that curls around all of their limbs in stringed performance, they move. Synchronised, all soldiers tighten their grips on their targe shields. United, all raise their spears with hands curled towards the butt of the weapons, causing the tools to jut out a near three yards in front of the simple formations.
Renalays stands a distance away, close to the large crowd of Kris citizens and other men-at-arms surrounding them. The Duskward can feel the subtle itch of her old comrade’s Shadow, ready to pluck her words from the winds and scatter them in snowing whispers that would reach the ears of every elf in observation. Thanidiel doubts it would be needed, but precautions are always useful things.
Even confined within her greathelm, her voice cracks over the field like the roll of traveling thunder. Decades of command have learned the fighter well in how to project clean from her diaphragm and cut through the din of warfare like the penetrating length of waving steel.
“The spear is the tool we have brought to you from the forests and quarries of the Dawnspire, for it is the most deadly you will find in any army!
It is a tool that emphasises victory in Unity, much like the Unity found today between the provinces of Kris and Dawnspire; south and north; the Blood shared between all Children of High Home. Your goal, when whatever prey comes at you whether it is Nightmare or bandit, will not be the slaying of what is in front of you. Your goal, when you’ve a spear in your hand and your comrades aside you, will be the support of the woman to your right; the man to your left.”
By now, all fifty sabatons march in the characteristic noise of plate sections clattering against leather and chain, the frenzied energy crashing against the grass below. Still in perfect bond, both lines spur into their faux combat.
In the midst of this controlled chaos, Thanidiel continues to boom over it all. Demonstrating the qualities of the spear in the context conveyed to the Kris people, her scanning vision catches the movement of a soldier preparing to stab towards a comrade two-men-down from her right. Raising her targe shield upward, and trusting in the fighters to her left, she extends in counter-assault.
“The root of all success is in the care of your fellows. Your daughters take your wheat to your market. Your sons harvest it. Your parents shelter you. Your friends repair your plows. Your governors provide you road and contract of sale. Your militia protects your fields. So too, does every soldier cooperate in everyone’s mutual safety to claim victory.”
Hefting her right shoulder outward, the arm, bent inward, extends outward in practiced motion. The lengthy spear held overheard stabs right for the woman who wished to ‘bleed’ her ally in this exercise. Crossing three yards diagonal, the weapon impacts its blunted head against the collar of the unfortunate woman with jarring force. Swiftly pulling back her arm, the Duskward observes the agreed-upon drop of the soldier onto the green earth (with some honesty noted there - that one will be examined for a broken bone later).
The showcase continues on, every person tasked with the protection and assistance of their left and right, in a flurried cacophony of spears knocking one another aside, thudding scrapes along the curve of shields, and the clatter of steel when weapons find home and push ‘enemies’ into the soil.
Eventually, the demonstration is whittled down to the participation of twenty-three soldiers, with the current Commander’s force outpacing the other row before them.
“Cease!”
Simultaneously, all spears are lowered and thrown into the empty span between the two lines. Every man and woman moves then in silent order to clasp their shields to their girdles and begin the work of uplifting the fallen and separating those genuinely hurt in the exercise. In the center of them, the Phoenix Guard pushes on.
“Thus, you see the power of the tools we will provide to every head here to keep. Its range, its power, and its versatility in defense and offense, is unmatched concerning what may be placed into anyone’s hands on the battlefield.
Consider this my gracious introduction. Now you have our expectation in the use of these tools displayed. Tomorrow will be a thorough mastery of the spear with the assistance of the soldiers aside you. You will bruise, you will bleed, and you will break. In that fashion, all volunteers present, you, Children of Iron, will be wrought into Steel.
For now? We will continue our focus on the lifeblood of victory; Unity. No one will fall behind. No one will exceed. No one will be forgotten.
You will observe this well in the coming days as every soldier beside you now will be at your aid, and you, theirs. You will learn to love your comrades, new and old, temporary or permanent, like siblings fed from the same milk and blood. That is how you will send any threats that come for Kris into the clasp of the earth - permanently.
In the spirit of Unity, command passes to Lightward Ethalarian Dawnstalker. He will introduce you, as I did, to another topic; how to form and move as one.
And he will further demonstrate how the success of combat relies not on individual strength or passion - but togetherness.”
With that, Thanidiel draws back into the crowd with a hand pulling her waterskin to her hoarse lips, and shifts into merely another face in the crowd.
It was at this point that Ethalarian stepped forward through the assembled mass of gleaming plate and towering spears until he stood at the head of the formation. Gone was his once signature scarlet and black now replaced by the warmer, brighter crimson and gold of the Sunguard. It was simple, for the most part, and far more reflective of his previous life- no ornate etching, nor expensive exotic metals, but layers of chainmail and partial plate overlapping a leather hauberk. His cuisses and greaves were much the same; simple yet sturdy leather and plate all reflective of his upbringing- and perhaps strategically chosen to appeal to the common folk of Kris.
“Greetings, my brothers and sisters. I thank you all for your attendance; it warms my heart to see communities come together in defense of one another.” The knight offers a wide, warm smile to each of those before him, his tone kindly and honeyed. These are no soldiers and he cannot dare to speak to them as such. Not yet. “My colleague-” he gestures to Thanidiel here “-has already demonstrated to you all the individual merits of the spear and the shield on an individual level.
As you’ve all observed, and as Duskward Highdawn has capably demonstrated, these are effective tools that allow you to safely engage your enemy from afar and to cover your brother’s flanks. An individual with a spear can keep at bay an enemy with less reach nigh indefinitely. However.”
At this point Etharian turns sharply about to face the formation behind him.
“About, face!”
His voice echoes across the field like a cannon shot and immediately is answered by the rumble and clatter of armored troops wheeling about in a matter of moments. The Sunguard’s banners had caught the breeze and were flying high now in the afternoon sun above Kris as a second formation, a group of volunteers from the villagers, took up position to the left. As anticipated, the latter had little idea of what to do or how to do it but did their best to mimic the Sunguard formation anyway and packed together as tightly as they could. Admirable. Ethalarian gave a slight nod as he turned now toward a broad shouldered, raven haired elf at his left.
“Sergeant Heartwood, give the signal if you please.”
With a nod, the Sergeant’s chest swelled as he drew in a deep breath and raised a horn to his lips that sounded at an almost deafening volume that echoed for several seconds across the rolling hills. A few short moments later, a low rumble began to roll in toward Kris from just over the next rise that grew louder and louder with each passing second. Within a minute a dark blob appeared upon the rise and was quickly followed by a chorus of shouts and jeers as the Enemy for this grand demonstration appeared.
Ethalarian grinned a crooked grin as he gestured up toward the Enemy and turned his attention back toward the gathered townsfolk.
“The Enemy presents itself and is set to lend credence to this next lesson: taking the field are two groups, equal in number and armed much the same.”
Now his attention falls to the group of volunteer soldiers, each looking more pale than the next. They had not fallen apart yet, not begun to disperse or rethink what they’d gotten themselves into but flight had definitely crossed their minds.
“Before you are the Blood Knights from the Eleventh Regiment. They are hardened soldiers, veterans of a dozen wars over the course of the past twenty years. For this example, the Enemy has been instructed to show no mercy- to treat this battle as they would the real thing.”
One of the volunteers toward the front took a half-step back.
His will was already faltering.
The rest would follow soon.
Excellent.
Again Ethalarian turned to Sergeant Heartwood and without a word the latter again sounded his horn. Without delay the dark blob upon the hill surged forward, pouring down from the as though an inkwell had been overturned and thundering toward both formations at a full gallop. Their approach was like a clap of thunder that never ended, a deafening rumble that became a roar which threatened to drown out everything else. As the ground began to shake beneath his feet, the Lightward turned his attention back to the man at the fore of the volunteer formation.
Another step back.
Then another.
Then a fourth.
Not long now.
Ethalarian glanced again toward the massive formation of cavalry now practically on top of both formations of infantry. The combined Phoenix Guard and Bloodsworn held strong, their lances and pikes planted firmly in the ground and held aloft at eye level, forcing their foe to wheel about and look for a better opening before trying again.
And then it happened.
The man at the front of the volunteer formation lost his nerve and broke, turning to flee as fast as his feet would carry him.
Then another.
Then another.
Then another.
Then them all.
That was all it took to turn the roughly organized group of volunteer mass into a broken, routing mob and the Enemy did not pass up the opportunity to fall upon them with a merciless vigor...or would have, had this been a real battle. Instead the company split and enveloped the fleeing herd of volunteers as pack of starving wolves would circle their prey.
Grinning, the Lightward turned back now to the remainder of the assembled villagers and spoke over the now quieting din.
“As you can see, my brothers and sisters, it is not individual skill that wins the day on the field.” He held up a single finger in turn as he spoke the next three words. “Discipline. Unity. Coordination. Once my colleague has instructed you how to fight as an individual, I will teach you how to apply the lessons you have learned and forge you all into a single cohesive unit.
You will learn to think, breathe, move, and act as one whole. I will not lie to you; this will likely be the most difficult two weeks of your lives. Persevere, however, and I promise your town will be the safest it’s ever been with or without our presence.”
Ethalarian took a moment to survey the crowd now as the defeated made their way back to the group, heads hung low in shame. Good. That would save him the trouble of humbling them later.
“Duskward Highdawn.” He turned over his right shoulder to seek out Thanidiel amongst the otherwise faceless formation.
“I believe it’s time to begin.”
A Phoenix Guard breaks formation, near unidentifiable from any other of the golden-plated soldiers present - were it not for the distinct engravement of horses carved into the fore of the regiment’s symbolic greathelm.
The woman strides to Ethalarian’s side and clasps her grip along the chain sleeve of his midarm as the opposing hand steadies the butt of her spear into the grasses underneath.
“Aye - for Kris.” strikes out from her, shattering the ‘quiet.’
“For Kris,” echoes from one former Blood Knight to the other; like two artillery shots in succession.
The volunteers, hesitant, break the silence in only tiny bubbles in their mimicry of the cry. Natural to their training, the two Sunspear before them roar in correction, in unison:
“WHO DO YOU FIGHT FOR?”
Hiccups of “For Kris!” answer, building in rate that fails to satisfy their instructors until it becomes a wild cacophony that shakes the air.
“For Kris!” “For Kris!” “For Kris!”
“For Kris!” “For Kris!” “For Kris!”
“For Kris!” “For Kris!”
“For Kris!”
Then the assembled two-hundred of Bloodsworn and Phoenix Guard join in, and the sheer energy transfers from sky to a rumbling across the whole of the earth. The subtle hand of Kris’ new comrades causes development from chaotic shocks of noise to proper, deafening, unified, waves.
“For Kris!”
“For Kris!”
“For Kris!”
“For Kris!”
“For Kris!”
“For Kris!”
“For Kris!”
“For Kris!”
“For Kris!”
“For Kris!”
“For Kris!”
“For Kris!”
[Tagging @curiouslich and @sakialyn for their interest as Sunspear officers!]
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Howl In The Dawn
The first sign of daylight had lightened the night sky into a muted purple, and the Sunguard’s main camp seemed quiet save for the guards getting ready to be relieved of their shift; perhaps those who were early risers had begun to stir in their tents. Snow was still present, and though the cold nights had not been quite as harsh as before, the ground was becoming more wet as signs of Spring were beginning to show with a gradual melt and crunch of those white hillsides and banks.
Approaching from the east, a dire wolf as massive as many of the cavalry’s warhorses and nearly camouflaged by her pale sand-colored fur, slow and tired from an arduous journey. One guard who was a volunteering fighter from The Farstriders recognized the beast and allowed The Blonde through, though curious and somewhat alarmed that the wolf was alone; missing the woman she was bonded to. Tied at the neck and hidden under The Blonde’s thick, winter guard hairs was a satchel that seemed to be made from skins of animals recently caught. Determined to reach her target, The Blonde did not stop to let the Farstrider check this satchel, and walked her way silently through the camp with only the crunch of snow beneath her paws alerting her presence.
The scent of Ethalarian Dawnstalker and Nuellen’s wolf Moro grew stronger and eventually The Blonde had arrived in time to greet the Blood Knight when he walked out from his tent, still pulling himself from a restless sleep.
His reaction, understandably, was one of immediate shock and then panic. He began to look around the immediate area The Blonde was standing, “Where is she?! Where-- Where is Nuellen?!”
He addressed the dire wolf directly, knowing the connection The Blonde and Amarr had to Nuellen, and seemed to understand general feelings and intentions from others. Yet, all the wolf did was wag her tail gently and lean forward to lick the entire left side of his face with the broad side of her tongue. He seemed to grow more frustrated and was about to continue his fruitless interrogation of a four-legged creature, but forced himself to calm as he watched The Blonde sit back onto the snow and yawn wide, lifting her head to expose the leather pouch tied to her neck.
The surge of concern and adrenaline made Larry’s hands shake as he went to untie and remove the pouch. Another deep breath was needed before he opened the pouch, not caring to admire the fact that somehow Nuellen had pulled enough twine from her supplies to sew the damn thing together.
Inside were three pieces of parchment folded neatly and marked on the outside with different sets of initials: BK E.D., AK A.B., and Arch. T.T.
He quickly identified which initials belonged to their person and made to remove his letter, but his eye caught the glint of metal resting at the bottom of the pouch. He reached and felt his heart sink as he pulled forth two necklaces; one of which was very familiar to him. Thinking the worst already, he looked down and pulled his letter. He only read what was addressed to him, but after some time, he dressed and left his tent once more, letters in hand and moving to make sure they were delivered to their intended recipient.
Nuellen’s Messages:
Under The Cut
Ethalarian,
I write this as I camp somewhere on the far Eastern side of Quel’Thalas, between a mountain range and perhaps a few weeks walk to The Goldsea; it’s a bit hard to tell right now. I don’t plan to linger very long here, and I don’t know how long this message will take getting to you, so I can only say that I’m alive and have avoided most conflict. I’m uninjured, if a little hungry, most of the prey animals are keeping warm and out of the snow.
These weeks of tracking have been almost too long - Amarr and The Blonde caught scent of Kipcha and we followed her trail as some allies were trying to get her to lead them to Velianor’s location, but Kipcha broke away and ran back the way they were traveling. I expect perhaps Frostblaze is injured and she was returning to her mate... Instead of turning back, we pressed forward; lost the scent a few times, but have finally found something.
Time has worn away any sort of direction Veli and her pack were headed, but someone had her on the run. I found wolf bodies, well worn by decay, but no sign of Velianor or a body. I’ve been canvassing the area for the better part of two weeks now; I may have found a site where she could have fallen, but there’s no signs of a body, nor any kind of scavenging. I have a fresher scent now, though...
I also have proof that I’ve made headway and have packed them with these letters to you, Aestus, and The Archon; I remember catching a glance of her wearing these necklaces a few times and I assume they weren’t removed voluntarily.
There is no trail, so Amarr and I will circle and widen the area for any possible signs or routes that she could have taken. I will not assume that she has been taken captive or killed.
I’ve done some training of my own with Amarr and The Blonde. I believe they now will have a connection to my well being, similarly to Velianor and her wolves but not quite as strong. The Blonde is to remain with you and Aestus for the time being, but if she will let you know if something is wrong.
I love you. This will have a positive outcome. Believe in that.
-Nuellen
P.S. Please make sure that Archon Truefeather gets my report.
Aestus,
I write this as I camp somewhere on the far Eastern side of Quel’Thalas, between a mountain range and perhaps a few weeks walk to The Goldsea; it’s a bit hard to tell right now. I don’t plan to linger very long here, and I don’t know how long this message will take getting to you, so I can only say that I’m alive and have avoided most conflict.
Finding our Velianor has not been easy, and it remains a challenge, but I believe I’ve made progress finally and now have more to work with.
Bad News first: Much of her pack has been eliminated, it seems. Some kind of skirmish happened and she was forced to retreat but not without pursuit. I found the necklaces I’ve sent with The Blonde hanging from a tree in one valley section, but I also found a few other signs that Amarr and I could get a solid scent from.
Better News: I have not found any evidence of a body or scavenging from other animals. This means she’s not here and I will continue to track her down. It will still take some time to circle the area and extend our search, but I’m confident Amarr and I will catch up to her. Wherever she is.
I realize this message may bring you and Ethalarian more distress, but keep your head clear. Don’t let the Worst Scenario worm it’s way to you. There’s something in my bones telling me that she isn’t gone from this realm; certainly you feel the same thing?
Keep hold of that feeling.
I’ll find her; and we will return together. Keep breathing.
-Nuellen
Archon Telchis Truefeather,
Nuellen Swiftstrike, Pathfinder Dawnward and Farstrider Ranger-Captain, writing to you in regards to the whereabouts and status of fellow Dawnward Velianor Novastorm. Apologies, first off and also in hindsight, for departing without previous approval from Superiors; this mission to track and locate the Dawnward started and has only been one of Personal and Emotional gain to myself and other members who are close to Velianor. However, I am acting alone and did not attempt to convince anyone else to join me; any repercussions for my actions against orders, I will accept when I return with Dawnward Novastorm, alive or otherwise.
I’m unaware of her reason for being so far from any other units, but that is not a concern to me, at current... Only that myself and others were alerted by one of her bonded wolves that something severely wrong had happened to her and the wolf pack she travels with. She had escaped the main camp and I decided to follow.
I’ve managed to track down a site along the mountainside South East of The Goldsea that I believe she had encountered an enemy force and retreat was required. However, the retreat was followed - perhaps harried - as many of her wolves are now rotting in the snow. The body of the Dawnward in particular was not discovered, nor have there been signs of any scavenging in the area; not even a finger bone was located. I have, however, found a lead and have chosen to follow it. If I find she is captured by any enemies, I will send my black Dire Wolf Amarr with notice and continue to track, but I will not engage. Otherwise, if she is found recovering or otherwise, I will report to the nearest camp with Dawnward Novastorm in my care.
I understand this is a minor update among events that are far more important. Please consider this letter an official report of investigation for The Sunguard’s archives.
Light and Lady Aessina Keep You Safe,
Nuellen Swiftstrike Alah’ni
Long Overdue Post Regarding Velianor Novastorm’s Phoenix War Stories: Planting Seeds in a Garden You Never Get to See and What’s Left Behind while eventually leading up to The Forgotten Pt. 1 / Pt. 2
Tagged For Mentions: @ocarina-of-what // @theletter27 ( @shampoocommercialelves ) // @trained-trainwreck ( @ethalarian) // @felthier ( @thesunguardmg )
#My Writing#OC Writing#World of Warcraft#Nuellen Swiftstrike#Velianor Novastorm#Ethalarian Dawnstalker#Aestus Battlevalor#The Sunguard#The Phoenix Wars
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Finale 1 - Edited Roll20 Log
Outside the walls of Arenias’ fortress was a celebration. Banners of all colours fluttered in the wind as Beathyn’s cannons continued their relentless shelling. All of the Emberglades were represented. Wintergale volunteers and Men of the Blackbanner led by Zarannis. Militia from the Heartlands and Shalemarch under Judereth. Even Westheath prisoners-turned-soldiers, promised amnesty, aiming to fight twice as hard to prove their loyalty to Relriah who had stepped forward to lead them. They knew of her, most of them growing up in Westheath together.
It wasn’t difficult to convince them to follow The Daughter of Illithia who was Arenias’ last remaining heir. After being explained the state of things by Relriah, they were more than happy to fight for someone who was just as ruthless- but not at their expense. They promised to deliver her father’s head as a coronation present for the true ruler of Westheath.
But despite the celebratory mood, there was still a dread that hung low in the air. Victory was close at hand, but it made the idea of dying -now- so much worse. A pointless last stand by Arenias. The last gesture by a Lordling that was already dead. The same outcome would be reached if he just surrendered- only with less bloodshed on both sides. But Stenden had been clear.
A prolonged siege to starve them out and forcing a surrender was not an acceptable option. They needed to snuff Lord Illithia and his loyalists out once and for all. The war had gone on long enough, and with the help of the heroes who had come to aid him, they were going to end this- Here. Now.
[Event Start]
Thanidiel Highdawn:"How much does the Lordling wish for us to keep intact?"
Esheyn:"An important thing to consider.”
Ethalarian:"I would imagine as much as possible, Highdawn."
Thanidiel:"I'm just saying. There's a lot of tinder here and nothing runs the untrained out of a fortress faster..."
Ethalarian:"I don't think they've much interest in ruling a load of torched tinder, either."
Lirelle:"I believe all of their militia have deserted them. Only those fanatically loyal are left."
Thanidiel:"I'll show them fanatical loyalty underneath my mare's hooves."
Lirelle looks up to the defenders on the walls. "I'm sure some of them are already regretting it."
Ethalarian frowns. Destroying his fellow countrymen to the man doesn't appear to sit well with him.
Thanidiel:"Highdawn will run down the riflemen ahead. Will your horsemen be handling the infantry?"
Ethalarian:"You can leave it to me."
Isilos pointed at the guards infront of Thanideil's troops. "Soften them up so the others can pass through."
Thanidiel:"Mm, fuck that. Redirecting - this city is so piss-narrow. I may split the heavy cavalry for now."
[Combat Starts.]
After the strategy concludes, the siege begins in earnest under the blasts of Beathyn’s cannon fire. The fighting is intense as the Coalition engages Arenias’ loyalists street by street, and block by block. Smashing through barricades and navigating roadblocks, the battle soon becomes a slaughter for the hopeless defenders. Nevertheless the fanatical opposing force put up a fierce defence.
The casualness with which the Crows move is at odds with the militia scattered around them. A flick of Lirelle's hand is enough to propel them forwards, horses trotting forward as their riders let loose. Their mage followed cautiously behind, her magic sending chunks of masonry flying from beneath the feet of the defenders. Lirelle herself hung back for now, save for a single bolt of black that washed over the crossbowmen, leaving nothing but corpses in its wake.
Ethalarian secures his helmet in place and spurs his charger forward without a word. As he races through the streets, he gives his orders with hand signals, dirt and loose stone flying through the air at the thunderous passing of his cavalry.
Esheyn and her troops take to the walls, climbing up the ladders quickly to dispatch their foes.
Vaelrin was here. And was here the entire time for whatever happened over the last few weeks at this particular location at this particular time when things were surely at a particularly violent era. Nevertheless, Vaelrin's best interest was to pursue and protect those who were with him in battle and with a bellowing call, he and bowmen took aim to the Arbalesters on the top of the wall.
[Meanwhile at the inner walls of the north]
Vissehn 's troops had been on the move long before the main army and they had carved their corner-- one man at a time, one night at a time. It took time to break a perimeter; more time to dig in. Lots of cardgames played silently-- lots of sleepless nights. Now, however, it paid off; their commander's eccentric strategy bringing them to the back of the field, where defenses pointed quite the other way. Springing up, they levelled their rifles at the bombardment canon, trying to make quick work of things on their side of the battle. All the while, their young and reckless commander sang a jaunty tune.
Vissehn Sings
"Lay them out, oh bullet born
Reap all they have sown
Arenias of the blatant scorn
will find his castle blown!"
And so they let loose, all of their shots, in a blaze of gunsmoke and shells.
Vissehn takes a moment to fire into the air, letting enemy and ally alike know that a Hawk has entered the fray.
[Back to the Main Assault]
Isilos channeled healing light towards Esheyn while commanding his Magisters to puch back the entrentched. "Clear the path, we need to make it to the other side. I will focus on keeping our ranks alive."
Thanidiel yells to her compatriots. "Highdawn will be blocking the advance of the lancers."
Ethalarian:"Good luck."
Mara Blazingdawn:"Soldiers! Fan out! We will not be left out of this fight!"
A runner comes in from their eastern flank, calling for reinforcements. The siege had gone well on the Eastern Wall. -Too Well- so much so that the militia-men had over extended and were now cut off.
Ethalarian immediately wheels his cavalry around, waving for him to follow. "My cavalry will ride to relieve the militia! We'll get there fastest."
The battle continues as Ethalarian rides down the streets leading eastwards and comes to the militia’s aide on the right flank.
Oosaarn and the arbalesters charged through the broken wall. Sprinting past broken buildings and rubble until they were well within the city. He orders his troops to attack the infantry on his left while both arbalesters attacks those straight ahead.
Esheyn continues their assault atop the wall, but she instructs her troops to descend and move to join the others.
Vaelrin bellows forth a command ordering his troop to follow him as he charges off on his steed towards the middle of the wall where the hole allowed entryway. With most of the ranged disposed of, his focus now turned towards something else. Without so much as a flinch, Vaelrin's presence was now alongside Lirelle as a command ushered forth a wave of arrows towards the nearest enemy.
Mara Blazingdawn raises her sword to order her forces forward. "Advance through the breech! We need to get into position to engage their infantry! Double time!"
Rallying her troops to her Mara Blazingdawn bellows at the top of her lungs as they enter the fray. "Drive these cavalry back! We need to clear the way!"
[Meanwhile, on the right flank]
Ethalarian 's cavalry arrives at the flank and he immediately begins to take stock of the situation. "Forward!" he bellows to his militiamen. "Buy the levies some breathing room!"
Ethalarian spurs his lancers forward, aiming to relieve the beleaguered levies. Light radiates from the lancers behind him and begins to knit closed their wounds. "You!" he shouts, directing his lance at some poor unfortunate soul. "What the hell happened here?"
The sargeant responds. They had broken through and made full use of it. Only to discover later that it was because they were let in -intentionally-. This whole eastern flank was a trap.
[Meanwhile, in the North, at the Inner Walls]
Vissehn shouts as the hit lands, but it doesn't seem to do enough. He looks to his militia men. "C'mon, bring 'em down!" They reload, and fire once more-- into the arablesters this time.
Vissehn:"Ilithia went to war
Far beyond their reach
Here we bay at their door
To hammer down a breach!"
Vissehn:"If we die we die glorious, lads! Let 'em remember we sang to our demise!"
[Back to the Main Assault]
Lirelle continues walking forward, the Crows behind her picking off targets as they went. As she passes Vaelrin again, she turns to look at him briefly. saying not a word as was promised. She stops behind Thanidiel's horsemen and the shadows curl around her, dissipating to reform in an instant to engulf the guards and rifles.
Thanidiel is unphased as the dark magicks swirl around them - those of the Emberheart militia reacting on the contrary until settled under the standard of Tyr's Hand again.
Isilos wiped the blood from his scythe and looked to the other streets. He didn't like being delayed when there was an objective.
Oosaarn and those arbalest mercenaries turned the nearest corner and ran headlong into the group of house guards down the ruined street. [All basic attack on House Guards]
Esheyn grits her teeth. She has a LOT of ground to cover if she has any hope of catching up with her comrades. But her troops are in a better position to assist, and so she calls to them, "TO ISILOS!" before jumping down to rush toward the fray.
Mara Blazingdawn finishes cleaning her blade from the recent skirmish. "Press forward! We have the advantage!" Ordering her knights to move into the ruins, the lesser guardsmen engage the House Guards while Mara's personal guard attack the Infantry further into the city.
[Meanwhile, on the right flank]
The trap continued to circle in on the remaining militia, also trapping Ethalarian.
Ethalarian squares his jaw as the severity of the situation begins to dawn on him. Cut off. Surrounded. "Hartwood! Duskarrow!" He shouts as loud as he can, hoping they can hear him over the din of the battle. "Fall back! Get the militia out of here, warn Highdawn and the others!" The broad-shouldered knight at the head of one of the militia formation falters. "But-" Ethalarian waves, cutting him off. "No argument, Sergeant! I'll delay them as long as I can!"
Takes one look at the situation, then back at the knight who had come to their rescue. "What about you?" He asks.
Ethalarian shakes his head. "You heard me. The last thing I need is a bunch of fucking farmers getting in my way."
Krissen Dawnhollow who had believed she had their lines of retreat cut off frowns. "Noble of you. But futile. Just like my Lord's stupid last stand. Are you here to make one of your own?"
Ethalarian wheels his cavalry about, facing now the one that had begun to approach him. "Nothing quite so elegant as that." He shrugs his shoulders. "Just no other options."
Krissen Dawnhollow shrugs. "Such is life, is it not?" She makes a wry laugh, for she knew that her fate would be similar. Shortly.
Ethalarian cracks a wry grin, leaning forward across the horn of his saddle. "Not that it's going to matter here in a few minutes," he says with a wry laugh, "but I don't suppose you have a name?"
Krissen Dawnhollow:"Krissen Dawnhollow," she says.
Krissen Dawnhollow raises her hand for her troops to attack. Whatever futile victory she had won on this side of the fortress was going to be pointless soon enough. As was the Knight's last stand. "Let's finish this."
Ethalarian discards his lance and draws Faithbreaker from its scabbard. The crimson blade flickers to life as it had so many times before and one of the knights behind him sounds a blast of his horn. "Let us indeed." Hooves drive into cobblestone with a thunderous sound as he spurs his charger into action, followed by what remains of his retinue.
[And on the Inner Walls North of the Main Assault]
Vissehn and his lads slipped off the battlements, and with a rush ran to the remaining bombardment canon. Vissehn waved them around, and his soldiers attempted to commandeer.
Vissehn cheers and his men, and the remains of his militia, aim for the final bombardment canon on the battlements.
“If we die now, we die with a canon!"
The boy holds tight to his canon, watching the arbalesters fell his men. Until there was none but himself.
Vissehn, alone as his luck seemed to fade, breaks out into song.
"When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered."
Thanidiel hears his song. "Are you singing to -comfort- yourself!" bellows through the streets.
The Main Assault was now closing in on the Inner Walls but none were in range to support the Hawk
Esheyn and her troops break into a run toward those battling up ahead. [All Sprint]
“Center formation! Fall back and reform! Rear formation! Attack!” Mara Blazingdawn the Dawnspire Knights engage the Houseguard bringing steel and courage to purpose.
Just as the arbalesters fire at Vissehn, the forces from the Eastern Flank arrive to assist
Ethalarian 's cavalry appear from the right flank, tattered and flagging but unbroken. A tree of a man leads the front most unit of cavalry, recognizable to most as Knight-Sergeant Hartwood. "Run them down!" he cries. "We need to end this quickly for the Captain's sake!"
[The Battle Quickly concludes and all forces meet up]
"Commander Highdawn!"
Thanidiel looks at the rider from Ethalarian’s unit. "Dawnstalker does not ride with you. Report."
Hartwood shakes his head. "The right flank was a trap, sir. Last I saw of him he was completely enveloped by the enemy." The big man looks grim. "I saw his banner charge into their leader's formation but- We need to hurry."
Thanidiel does not shout nor rile at the news - accepting it quietly with the phoenix greathelm obscuring her thoughts and features. What there is - almost automatic on the heels of Hartwood's words, is the swishing motion of the Tyr's Hand standard and the beat of the armoured cavalry's hooves as they move shortly from a rippling trot to a full gallop through streets and along walls to the eastern flank.
What she finds when she arrives is a scene of calamity- not a single one of the Lancers that had left under Ethalarian's banner remained standing. She finds him at the center of the formation, badly bloodied but somehow still breathing. At least for the moment. His wounds are many and they are deep. His head turns, eyes unseeing, toward the sound of hoofbeats as Highdawn's formation approaches and he manages to barely lift a hand.
Thanidiel slows enough to swing off of the back of her pale mare, allowing the beast to come to its own stop as her armoured frame lands onto the cobblestone. The motleyed band of horsemen that had followed her all the way from the South, just as Ethalarian had, already bringing themselves to a pause aways from the scene. Sweetness does not soften this moment, for Highdawn is not sweet and has always been all of the weapon that Ethalarian had wished to dehumanise into. Her gauntletted hand lowers to his, enough to curl around, as she delivers the plainfaced observation. "You are dying. My Light would do nothing but spur you to the end before it could uplift you."
Thanidiel then seethes out, angry but restrained, "We should have gone together. Traded places."
Ethalarian sputters a half-choked laugh and gives a shake of his head, bloodied lips twisting into a crooked grin. "S'w-what I always liked about you, Th-Thanidiel. Always a...a laugh." He lifts his chin and tugs sharply, with what little strength he has left, and the buckles clasping his curiass in place give out. "Shut up," he hisses through clenched teeth as his numb fingers fumble for something. "I picked this."
Thanidiel:"The dying or whatever you're fumbling for in there? If you think I like you enough to go into my Great Uncle's lands and hand Nuellen your dogtags..." The ex-Knight picks up on his manner, letting everything else said pass by with flickers of her ears as she drops to her knees. Facilitating the ease of whatever was being given.
Ethalarian finally finds what he's looking for- something kept close to his heart- and weakly takes it into his grip. "Everything." The color begins to fade even more rapidly from his ruddy skin. Unable to lift his arm anymore, he rocks his shoulders in her direction and slaps whatever is in his hand- smeared with his blood- into her chest. "Keep...this...close." Ethalarian winces from the pain. "Foot...footlocker."
Thanidiel examines the bloodsmeared object, using the leather underside of her glove to wipe away and discover its details. The greathelm, as always, obscuring anything animate to her. But whatever it was, the stalks of her ears freeze and pull back - threatened, or alarmed, taken aback? Either way, it all braces and chills through the rest of her frame as she looms over the dying Knight. Hostility replacing affection even still as she grits out a simplistic, "Fuck you," as the ramifications process through her mind. "You're going to make me live for this?" She had wanted this all to be the end; a merit of good work to at least a few peoples before bringing over a century of nightmare to an end.
Thanidiel growls after - the sound reverberating through her chest, and throat, and the layers of padded cloth and metal encasing her. Even still, the deliberate motion is present in the other's dying vision; the press of Elleynah's World to her breastplate.
Ethalarian squeezes Thanidiel's hand weakly and seems to laugh- his body shakes, at least- and that wry smile returns to his face. He wants to say more- to give her a few final words- but he can't summon the energy. All he can do is nod weakly. She knows his meaning. She'll understand. Regardless of whatever difference they may have had, she would do what needed to be done. That was her way. And then, at long last, his grip goes slack in her hands and he stills completely.
[Event End]
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@ethalarian @thesunguardmg
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limb
The battle din echoes in her ears.
Orders barked, shields and swords clashing.
“Focus on the flyers. Don’t let them through to the city,” She calls to the demonologists at her side.
It leaves them open to attack from the ground - outriders and knights charging into their ranks. Sanarissa whirls, right arm coming up to cast a shield around them, but one of the risen knights is already cutting down.
At first, it doesn’t register when metal cuts down through her arm - and then there is nothing below the middle of her forearm. Sanarissa is lost in the entropic burn of shadowflame and the fight around her, so the reaction that there is nothing where there was once a hand, an arm; it comes slowly. Eyes rove and focus down to the right, to where there is nothing except blood.
Time seems to roll past her at a crawl.
She’d held books, magic, reagents - it was the hand that had first touched Merriena’s face, she’d held Ashiserus’ hand in her own, Thinariel had caught her from tumbling into the abyss in Nethermoon’s repository, patting against Ethalarian’s back when she’d come back and he’d berated her - not far from where she had sank a knife into it years ago. Countless touches and moments. She’d worn Merriele’s signet band on the right middle finger for luck at times.
The fury finally clicks into place.
Shadowflame arcs up her left arm, engulfing around her like an aura from there. Burning, entropic, devouring - she’s going to tear these things apart -
The next swing comes through her lower abdomen. She chokes, and stumbles to her knees, and then down to the grass - blood pooling. The flames flicker, burn low around her though not extinguished. They come from more than just her, and they burn longer than she can.
It grows distant. Quiet - pulling? Something is pulling her, blood back into her - skin still bleached pale from the loss, though. Something - someone?
Edaril, is that his name? Bleeding Eye.
Mistybrook, where she first encountered them. It’s a dim memory in this half-alive moment. The tomb. The creeping, crawling voice at the back at her mind - always seeking violence and vengeance. Vannon had been the target that time - as so recently it had been the Ley-walker in mind and Thinariel in action. The Bleeding Eye were enemies. Dangerous. Sentiment echoed by veteran Oathsworn. She had struck, and tried to convince herself it wasn’t the yawning void in the back of her mind that had spurred her to action.
Had that all brought them here? To this?
Not enough time to contemplate whether she had been a part in this void scheme that was tearing her home apart. Not when she was coming to, when instinct to keep fighting was taking over - overruling the pain and the imbalance as she stumbles to her feet. Moving is difficult, swaying more with less weight on her right side. The battle passes in a half fog of adrenaline and instinct and harsh words, because fighting is the only thing keeping her upright - keeping her from thinking too long about the no-longer-freely-bleeding stump where her lower arm used to be.
Being sucked into the darkness of Irkalla is the last thing her mind holds onto before she falls without anything to catch her.
She doesn’t know how long it’s been when she comes to, only that the air is stagnant and dark and cloying. There’s heat nearby, flames - molten heat - Thinariel’s abyssal?
Sanarissa drags herself to sit up with her left hand. She reaches with her right -
Her right. Right hand.
It comes in a blur of realization and fog and panic - why is it there, it wasn’t there, it wasn’t there it was gone why -
It lacks scars. From the tips of her fingers to the severing point, it is a pale, freckled expanse of skin like something of her younger years. It is a mismatch from her left, which is a tapestry of scars from burns and rootlike strikes of lightning.
It feels strange. It responds as her hand always has but it is not right, it is not right - what is it?
The distant rumbling of sound from the abyssal signifies Thinariel’s emergence. She hears her voice, dimly, but she doesn’t look up from the too-perfect imitation of her flesh.
Perhaps it is a gift, comes Her velvet murmurings.
It is not a gift that she wants.
#writing#phoenix wars#wow someone gave#her a gift of a new hand that's so nice!!!#i wanted to really have sana lose something with that last mortal wound roll + it's an interesting way to continue her weird void developmen#the hand will continue to come into play
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The Wedding
The dress sat on a rack in her dressing room, and Eleeria sat in a chair before it, gazing at the expanse of fabric with something like disbelief written in her features. The wedding gown was traditionally Sin’dorei — golden gems accented the white, red, and russet colors reminiscent of fall. She hadn’t worn a wedding dress the last time — just her ceremonial Blood Knight armor. But Weleria had insisted on dresses this time, and so here hers sat: lovingly tailored by her sister, designed by her mothers, the dress was perfect.
And Eleeria could not help but feel a rush of happiness at the sight.
Finally. Finally, finally, they were getting married in front of their friends and family. Eleeria had never had a planned, proper wedding. Weleria had had two now; perhaps it was not so exciting as the novelty had worn, but to Eleeria there was nothing more wonderful. She would walk down the aisle with her bride and finally curl her hands around that commitment which she had so dreaded in years past. To think she now embraced it with open arms was almost amusing to her. Perhaps it simply had to be the right person — but no.
Eleeria leaned back in her chair, the rollers in her hair heavy as she leaned them back against the cushion.
No, though Weleria was most certainly the best match Eleeria could have made for herself, it wasn’t her that inspired such a change. Eleeria knew that it came from within — a slow-evolving life change that had finally blossomed into complete results. How long had it been, since she had told her therapist how unhappy she was as an assassin? How long since he had suggested she find something else — since Ethalarian had gifted her the light that had become most precious to her? Years, now. And here she was: Knight-Lord of Quel’thalas, General of the Horde. An accomplished Blood Knight and soldier, a medic of particular devotion to her patients. So much had changed that Eleeria scarce recognized herself, most days.
And yet, it was a welcome change. As Eleeria heard the telltale sound of toddler feet hitting the stone floor, accompanied by a war cry of sea monster!, she opened her eyes and arms to welcome her daughter into her lap. Dressed in azure and silver as a proper little lady of House Silverwing, Lairen’s dress was fluffy and roomy for the four year old to scurry about in. And currently, she seemed most insistent that she show off all of her best sea monster growls and roses to her minn’da before the wedding.
“Who’s this sea monster in my lap!”
“Roaaaaaar! Hisssss!” Lairen bared her teeth at Eleeria, who did so in turn, flashing sin’dorei fangs at one another before it turned into a giggle. “Mum says I look like a demon!”
“You’re not a demon, you’re my beautiful baby sea monster.” Eleeria stood, her toddler in her arms and perched on her hip, as she moved over to her dress. “What do you think, Lairen?”
“Yours is prettier than mine...” the four year old frowned, and Eleeria couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Tell you what: when it’s your wedding, you can wear the prettiest dress. Okay?”
“Mhm.”
“You want to run and tell your Mum something?” Lairen’s eyes lit with excitement, and she nodded. She loved being the bearer of grim tidings. “Alright: run off and tell her that I’m excited to see her.”
Eleeria sat her daughter back down on her feet, and the four year old took off running down the hall again, leaving Eleeria alone with her dress and her thoughts.
“Well...” she put her hands on her hips with a delicate sigh and smile. “Let’s do this, then.”
#weleria and eleeria#weleeria#wedding day#wyrmrest accord#ic#writing#i meant to post this yesterday and was super busy
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The Sunguard Legionfall Finale, Battle in the Dawnspire
Recap of the Event
A long, commissioned project in the making, but it’s here. The epic Legionfall closing event was incredibly fun to illustrate, as well as fondly remembered. With @felthier ’s request, I snuck in some surprise cameos where I had room/composition to do so.
@thesunguardmg
Pictured Characters:
Tyril Sunspear having become Alazar, the Burning Heart of Belore,
Tyleril Silversword, Koramm Stonehoof, Doom Lord Baal, Thinariel Farmight, Ethalarian Dawnstalker, Telchis Truefeather, Muroco Rockhoof, Ithranicus Remar, Veleth Ashcaster, Jonathan McCallun, Prime Consort Kala, Felo’thore & Adrianal Novastorm, Avada Emberfall
#World of Warcraft#blood elf#the sunguard#legionfall finale#roll20 event#illustration#elf#battle#original art#tauren#demons#Legion#war#quel'thalas
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Sunguard Sitewrite Entry 1
Write a journal entry for your character dated ten years in the future.
It was a good day today.
When I woke up this morning, I was free of pain. My knee wasn’t nearly as swollen as it usually is. It was a good thing, too, as Alna’cenia had awoken long before me and was practically breaking down the door in her eagerness to begin the day’s training. She practically stuffed my leg into the brace the Doctor Novastorm, his brother Thordemar, and Adrianal designed for my leg, shoved a shirt over my head, and jammed my crutches under my arms so I could hurry up and hobble downstairs for breakfast- one that she had prepared. Her mother and sister are busy off in the woods doing...whatever it is druids do in their free time (talking to trees or birds or I’m honestly not sure what), so it’s just been the two of us.
Words aren’t enough to express just how proud I am of Alna. She’s grown into a fine young woman, a beacon of what it is to be one of our kind. Strong, proud, bullheaded and a stubborn streak ten miles wide. That girl has a fire in her heart that burns as hot as any forge and she’s determined to master the techniques her mother has allowed me to teach. The lessons are conducted the only way I know how: harshly. I know Nuellen cringes whenever we take to the training yard and our daughter comes home covered in bruises, but I think she understands the necessity of the punishment Alna endures. Maybe endures isn’t the right word- she almost welcomes it, in a way.
One more challenge. That’s all she sees.
As I sit here at my desk, I can only wish I was healthy enough to really train with her. The brace helps a good deal, but it’s not the same and it never will be again. Doctor Novastorm insists I be cautious with it, that it can only augment what little structural integrity is left in my leg, and I can but heed his advice. It’s frustrating. I hate this. The damage is so extensive that it’s not even possible to remove my leg entirely and replace it with an augmented prosthetic like Thordemar wears. Doctor Novastorm explained it to me once. Something about...mana channels and nerve endings and a lot of excessively long words that I couldn’t even spell to look up in a dictionary if I wanted to.
I hate this. So much.
But I can’t dwell on that. I won’t.
What I will focus on is helping my daughter become the best knight she can be, regardless of which path she chooses. I’m proud of who she is and who she’s becoming.
That, regardless of everything else, made it a good day.
( @brothersemberfell, @ocarina-of-what, @thedragonisaprincess for mentions )
#Sunguard#sunguard sitewrite#Moon Guard#WoW#World of Warcraft#RP#Role Play#Writing#Blood Knight#Ethalarian
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™ - Do any inspirations for how your muse fights come from other media? List or describe them.
For Ethalarian, no not really. I try to keep his fighting style very much grounded in reality with a few concessions here and there with regards to the setting he exists in. His style is drawn from Joachim Meyer's German longsword treatises.
Torithas, on the other hand...well.
I am nothing if not a completely shameless Berserk fanboy. Torithas draws tons from Guts as a character, from his world view to his fighting style to the lengths he'll go to come out on top. He's huge, brutal, unrelenting, and swings around a huge slab of metal like it's a toothpick.
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🎄
The tavern was alive with cheer and merry spirit, the Legion had been beaten back - for now at least - and The Sunguard’s troops allowed a momentary rest. It was good for morale even if they’d all be suffering dry mouths and pounding heads through drills in the coming morn. There was an outburst of laughter as an Oathsworn tried, and failed, to drink a yard of ale only to end up with it sloshing down over his face. Avie crossed an arm over her stomach as she laughed, half holding Shahin’s arm across her shoulder to stop herself from losing her balance.
“Better luck next time, cherry,” Avie whooped as she straightened up and was half dragged back to the bar by her fellow Sunspear for more drinks.“Poor sod, thought he had it in the bag too,” Shahin snorted through a laugh and half fell onto the bar and signals for more drinks to be brought to them. There was a cheer from elsewhere as another soldier stood triumphant in just their briefs - clearly victim of a game gone awry and proud of their newly derobed status. Avie turned and leant back on the bar, rolling her eyes at the scene only to pause and splutter on the drink still in her hand as she caught sight of the mistletoe that hung above them.
“And here I thought you didn’t choke on anything-,” Shahin teased before he too caught sight of the traditional winter sprig. There was an awkward moment where they looked at each other, blinking, as if considering, before Avie abruptly turned back around and reached for the black lable liquor she knew was hidden beneath the bar.“Shots?”“Shots.”
@trained-trainwreck ASK AND YE SHALL RECIEVE
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A-1, C-1, F-5, and that one about whether they like a hot or cold room. I'm on mobile.
A: Aptitude1. what are your oc’s natural abilities, things they’ve been doing since young?Foraging, hunting, sparring, sling weaponry, fletching, horse-riding, clothing maintenance, whittling, survival skills. 2. what activities have they participated in?this question is worded so dumbly,,, all that life entails???3. what abilities do they have that they’ve worked for?Fluency in other languages. Her weapons training. Reading and writing. Leadership.4. what things are they bad at?Being a nice person. Archery. Anything related to technology or arcane beyond cantrips. Keeping still. Magical healing.5. what is their most impressive talent?I’d say it’s a toss-up between her charisma or cunning.
C: Comfort1. how do they sit in a chair?She tends to sit closer to the edge, legs squared and spread, with a slump to her shoulders. She likes to rest an elbow on her thigh and hold up her head in her hand often as well. 2. in what position do they sleep?On her back, legs together, arms resting over her stomache or loosely to her sides.3. what is their ideal comfort day?She’d either 1. Spend it all in complete isolation in nature 2. Have a lazy day with Bricini.4. what is their major comfort food? why?Eating is not a comfort mechanism of her’s.5. who is the best at comforting them when down?I’d say @jessipalooza‘s Bricini or @captainswingbeard‘s Ithanar. Ithanar is steady and hears her out + usually relates… Bricini will argue with her until they get down to the ‘root’ of it and then she calms down after that sort of ‘cool-down fight.’
F: Fun1. what do they do for fun?Physical activities by herself or with similarly-athletic friends. 2. what is their ideal party?A quiet gathering at home or somewhere more scarce in the night - with her closer companions.3. who would they have the most fun with?Bricini, Renalays, Ithanar, @trained-trainwreck’s Ethalarian, her army company, in terms of fun, fun. She certainly enjoys other people beyond this. 4. can they have fun while conforming to rules?She is absolutely not a conformist in this regard.5. do they go out a lot? Yes.
H: Heat1. do they rather a hot or cold room? She prefers a cold room; she runs at a high temperature.
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Is there anyone Erilihn particularly dislikes/hates? How does she or how would she handle having to work with people like that?
Hmm, let’s see. She kind of has had it out for Leidora @alteraciarrowhead ever since the Feralas RP-PvP campaign, when Leidora killed her scouts in battle. I can’t imagine them working side-by-side any time soon (since, y’know, faction war), but if they did, I think Erilihn would be cold and do her best to intentionally ignore everything Leidora had to say.
In terms of Horde people she hates, Ethalarian ( @ethalarian ) and Arrodis (idk if he has a tumblr, sorry) are very high up on her list. Ethalarian tortured her back in late December, and Arrodis murdered one of her closest friends. I doubt she would agree to work alongside them unless absolutely necessary, and if so, she would spend the whole time undermining them and being all-around sarcastic and bitchy. She strongly dislikes Ethalarian and will likely never let go of what happened, but she downright hates Arrodis with a passion, and it would be much harder to get her to be civil around him.
Thanks for the ask!
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Track’r
It was Amarr who woke her in the night, cold nose pressing to a foot and scaring her nearly out of her own skin. She would’ve fallen from her cot, had it not been for Ethalarian’s arm keeping her grounded, who had also started to wake when her startled gasp roused his own light sleep.
The direwolf’s head was poking into their tent, unable to fit the rest of his body within, but his anxiety hit her before she calmed down enough to scold him.
Something was wrong within the camp, but what was it? Then she heard the howling; distraught, almost frightened. It wasn’t any of her own pack.
“What is it?” Larry’s groggy voice came up.
“Let me check.”
The howling started to mix with desperate barks as Nuellen stepped out from their tent, and the sight of Velianor’s wolf Kipcha looking frightened and feral, trying to flee the camp grounds but almost confused by her fear and desperation. But for what?
The hair at the back of Nuellen’s neck stood and gooseflesh began to form.
Across the way, she spotted Aestus trying to calm the wolf down, but Kipcha was too far gone to even notice him.
A way out was found and the pale wolf began to run with the elves giving chase to the best of their abilities. All the way to the edge of the camp, but she had disappeared into the snowy forest.
Nuellen and Aestus stood there in silence, but sharing their looks of concern and fear. She heard her own wolves near her tent, baying and howling in grief.
Unacceptable. Absolutely not.
[More Under the Cut]
She entered her tent, lips pursed and silent as she began to dress and gather her supplies.
“What are you doing?” The Blood Knight frowned and stood to get her attention. “Nuellen, what’s happened?”
“I don’t know but something is wrong with Velianor. Kipcha wouldn’t have done that if she was fine.” Insulated clothes were pulled on and half her armor before Larry began to realize where Nuellen’s mind was at.
“You’re not serious about leaving are you?” She flashed him a look that said she was, but he continued, “You- But you can’t.”
“I can. I’m going to and I’m taking Amarr and The Blonde with me. Moro will stay here to help protect you and Aestus.” She pulled on the last of her heavier armor and stopped to look at him. He looked confused. Apprehensive. She knew why. Her ears lowered and she sighed out. “I have to look for her. That wolf’s reaction happened for a reason and I have to at least confirm if she can even be found. If she was wounded and captured, that could mean they have a means to pull info on us. If she’s-”
They both winced, seeming to know where her explanation was headed.
“I have to know. I have to at least find- her.” The Farstrider inhaled and she moved to wrap her arms around his body. “I’m going to track Velianor down and I’m going to return once I’ve found her. Hopefully, I will be able to bring her back with me.”
“This can’t happen again, Nuellen.” His own arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her antlered head closer to him. “If we’ve lost Veli; I can’t lose you too.”
“You won’t. Believe in me when I say that you won’t.”
They stayed like that only a few moments more before Nuellen pulled away to finish her packing, speaking low as she did so, “I’ll do my best to find some way to let you know I’m still around. But you have to stay here; it’s where you’re most needed, you know. Tracking is best done alone, anyway.”
“Yeah...” He was still frowning, sitting himself at their cot, “I don’t like this, Nue.”
“I don’t either.” She remained silent until she had her things ready to go, pulling it all together over a shoulder. She turned and approached Larry, cupping his face in her hands to have him look at her. “I love you, Ethalarian. I love you. I love Velianor, too, and Aestus. I’ll return to you and I’ll bring her back if I can.”
She felt his jaw clench more than once, but accepted her kiss when she leaned in to give it.
Amarr had been sitting outside the tent, waiting for her to emerge. His tail briefly pushed the snow around as it wagged, but he seemed to sense that something important was about to happen. Keeping her voice low, Nuellen called for her other wolves. The Blonde and Moro trotted from their hiding places, sitting near Amarr and waiting for Nuellen’s new commands. The smaller, dark brown wolf, Moro was left to keep Ethalarian company, understanding the commands to stay and listen to him, while the two direwolves, each the size of a destrier, accompanied their master.
Amarr ran ahead as Nuellen jumped onto The Blonde’s back, looking over her shoulder to give Ethalarian a smile, then set off into the still-dark and early morning with only large paw prints being left in the snow.
I’ll track her. I’ll track her... I’ll track’er.
Track’r.
Response for Velianor’s ‘Planting Seeds’ piece, related to The Phoenix Wars campaign @the-sunguard-archives
Tagged for Mentions: @theletter27 @trained-trainwreck @ocarina-of-what
#Writing#My Writing#Nuellen Swiftstrike#Velianor Novastorm#The Sunguard#The Phoenix Wars#Farstrider leaves to find a Loved One#Whoops#Nuellen is taking after her father Alorinis more and more and more
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