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longveil · 1 year

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The Book of Burdens

[ Photo by Taylor Flowe on Unsplash ]

In the months that followed the foxfire’s loss, Seraanna buried herself in the Scrollkeeper’s Sanctum. Ensconced within the Temple of the Jade Serpent, the library held works that pre-dated the Great Sundering itself - scrolls copied and recopied dutifully over the centuries, growing more ornate with each rendition as earlier parchment succumbed to the inevitability of age.

But it was writing of unexpected provenance, a children’s history, that sent the ren’dorei on a month-long journey across Pandaria. To Kun-Lai and the Townlong Steppes, Krasarang and the Vale of Eternal Summers, that wellspring still recovering from N’zoth’s ill-fated ascendancy.

From the mouths of babes.

Jun-Seo was seated at her desk within the Sanctum, glasses perched upon the aged monk’s nose as she transcribed one of several crumbling scrolls for preservation. She caught only a flicker of motion from the corner of her eye, looking up as a familiar form approached - trailing shadow and laden with intent.

“Scrollkeeper,” Seraanna murmured, “I would… give question to you.”

“Lady Longveil. What would you have of me?” Jun-Seo placed her quill aside and scattered a pawful of sand over the still-wet ink of her efforts before offering a shallow, seated bow to her guest. Then ren’dorei’s patronage of the Sanctum was no secret among the Temple’s monks, and it afforded her tolerance - and a modicum of respect. If only a modicum.

Seraanna drew closer, placing parchment of her own upon the monk’s desk. “I have been to study… the legacy of your Emperor Shaohao. The writings found at the temples of the Celestials that… detail his burden when faced with prophecy of the Great… Sundering.”

Jun-Seo nodded in acknowledgment. “He unburdened himself of doubt and despair, fear, anger, hatred, and violence, giving his last breath to protect his people from the doom,” deep brown eyes regarded Seraanna, “your people engendered.”

If only a modicum.

“… yes.” If Seraanna’s murmurings were softer, neither chose to comment. “But I have question of these… words.” Slender fingers gestured to the parchment, faint wisps following behind, to indicate a transcription rendered in Seraanna’s own graceful hand. For a moment, Jun-Seo was envious of the other woman’s artistry; the calligraphy even on this field transcription easily the match of any monk within the Sanctum. But the envy was released with a skill of born of long practice as Jun-Seo adjusted her glasses to read the flowing script, recognized immediately as a passage from the Book of Burdens:

…Shaohao meditated for three days and three nights, for the counsel of the Jade Serpent was unclear. How could one purge oneself of all doubt?

Weary of waiting, Shaohao’s traveling companion the Monkey King whittled a strange grimacing visage out of bamboo. He urged the Emperor to place the mask of doubt on his face…

While mischief was the Monkey King’s motivation, the mask worked - As Shaohao pulled the mask away, his doubts took on a physical form. For seven hours they fought, until the Sha of Doubt was buried.

“The… mask. All writings, all… temples speak the same.” The ren’dorei’s lambent gaze found Jun-Seo. “Masks, made of the Monkey King’s hand, which drew… forth shadow of… the Sha. Of the fallen god Y’shaarj.”

Jun-Seo frowned, one paw raised in an all-but-reflexive gesture of warding. “Do not speak the Old God’s name here, Lady Longveil. Your welcome is not without limits.”

Seraanna inclined her head, artfully tousled hair falling into her eyes. “My… apologies, Scrollkeeper,” she murmured. “Yet I would know if any still… practice this art, the making of such masks as… described of eld.”

“Few in recent history.” The monk’s attention went to the walls of the Sanctum, heavy with scrolls and tomes. “And none since your people both freed and defeated the Old God’s last remains. Only one. A Master Xyolo, lost to us before the Sha fell. He did take an apprentice - one of your own people, I’m told.”

Deep brown eyes fell back to Seraanna. “But she’s not been seen for years. However, Master Xyolo entrusted some of his writings to the Temple.” Jun-Seo beckoned to a younger pandaren garbed in unadorned robes, who scurried to the Scrollkeeper’s call. “Acolyte, see the Lady Longveil to the northern wing, eighth rack, second shelf.”

Jun-Seo’s attention returned to Seraanna. “You should find Master Xyolo’s writings there. They’re of his own hand, and are not to leave the Sanctum." The elder monk paused, then added, "I do hope you respect the deference the Temple has offered you, Lady Longveil.”

A faded smile drew at dark-painted lips as Seraanna coiled her own parchment. “Of… course, Scrollkeeper. It is not that I… would think of abusing your trust.” She turned lambent regard to the approaching acolyte before glancing back briefly to Jun-Seo. “Shadows guide your… path.”

The ren’dorei’s parting words were offered almost carelessly, her steps silent as she followed the acolyte to the Sanctum’s northern wing.

“And your patronage,” Jun-Seo muttered after Seraanna left earshot, “is appreciated moreso the less we must suffer it.”

With a deep sigh, the Scrollkeeper adjusted her glasses again and returned to her own transcription, pushing uncertain thoughts from her mind. Uneasily had the Temple borne the ren’dorei’s presence since her companion had... failed to return. Yet her patronage had seen many works preserved that might have otherwise crumbled to time, and thus was valued. Legend had it that Doubt was the first Sha defeated by Shaohao. In the wake of her Temple's patron, could Jun-Seo offer any less?

#longveilstories #| Masks |#Pandaria #mists and circles

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garrennorassin · 2 years

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Garren Norassin

Art by sbeep

The Basics ––– –

Name: Garren Irrus Norassin

Nickname(s): ‘Gin’

Age: Young Adult

Birthday: June 4th

Race: Half Kaldorei / Half Quel’dorei

Gender: Male

Marital Status: Single

Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: Snow white

Eyes: Glowing silver with a hint of powder blue

Height: 6′0″

Build: Slender but toned

Distinguishing Marks: His skin tone is a very pale purplish-blue, but his ears are shaped more like those of a Quel’dorei. He’s often mistaken for a Ren’dorei, but can also pass as a Kaldorei, Quel’dorei, and even as a Sin’dorei on occasion. Grab bag elf!

Tattoos: Various shaped arrows along the insides of all fingers and across the tops of both thumbs.

Piercings: None

Common Accessories: His mother’s bow, his grandfather’s silver Norassin crest ring, and his grandmother’s silver necklace with a jeweled charm that represents The White Lady and The Blue Child.

Likeness: Lucky Blue Smith

Personal Information––– –

Profession: None currently that have stuck, at the moment he does odd jobs anywhere he can to make money.

Hobbies: Archery, making arrows, long distance running (gotta run away from those problems), swimming, listening to music, he used to play harp and may pick that up again once settled.

Languages: Darnassian, Common, Orcish

Residence: Formerly Darnassus, then Moonglade with his guardians and other refugees. Currently staying with his guardians but needing a new place to live!

Birthplace: Darnassus

Religion: Elune

Patron Deity: Elune

Fears: Large fires, war, never belonging anywhere

Personality: Given who his parents are, he’s got some serious anger issues at times; they are both very hot-headed and stubborn, and he’s inherited a lot of that. It doesn’t help that he’s not had the best life, being constantly surrounded by death and losing everyone you love at such a young age will mess you up. Despite all of that, he tries to show compassion and kindness, especially for those that have been in similar situations. He can be playful and charming when he feels comfortable, cold and closed-off when not. He’s even slightly manipulative at times, but he is a product of his upbringing and you learn to get what you need however you can when in dire situations. Overall, he’s just very lost and trying to find his way.

Relationships ––– -

Spouse: None

Children: None

Parents: Callia Norassin (Deceased and in Maldraxxus) and Xylaes Qin’oril (Alive and living in Dalaran - @xylaes)

Siblings: None

Other Relatives: All deceased in the burning of Teldrassil

Pets: None

Sex & Romance ––– -

Sexual Orientation: Bi-curious

Preferred Emotional Role: submissive | dominant | switch

Preferred Sexual Role: submissive | dominant | switch | unknown

Libido: Not really known at this time. He’s only recently come of age and his life has been in a constant state of turmoil over the past five years, so it’s not been at the top of his list.

Turn ons: Long legs, pretty smiles, compassion, wild streaks

Turn offs: Bad hygiene, liars, narcissists, bullies

Love Language: Words of Affirmation, Touch

Relationship Tendencies: He’s never been in a serious relationship!

Traits ––– -

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––– –

Smoking Habit: Socially

Drugs: Socially

Alcohol: Socially

RP Hooks ––– –

DARNASSUS: He lived in Darnassus up until Teldrassil was burned down. He was still a ‘teenager’ at the time, so he was attending school and doing other teenage things.

MOONGLADE: After Teldrassil was destroyed, he moved to Moonglade with his guardians and could be found around the refugee camps.

WHAT IS HE? - He’s obviously an elf, but given his mother was a Kaldorei and his father a Quel’dorei, he received an interesting mixture of the two and it’s a bit indiscernible to pinpoint exactly which type of elf he is. I welcome characters to be curious about this, but it’s possible he may get offended depending on how he’s asked (which is OoC fine with me).

Looking For ––– –

Friends, mostly! He’s a brand new character and just starting out on his own in life! While he does have Xylaes (his father) around to help him, those two still have a fairly strained relationship and he could use some friends and whatever else!

Any type of RP whether it’s one-and-done or long-term if we click - slice of life, casual, fluff, dark, etc. I’m fairly open to anything as long as he’s not being killed off!

How to Contact ––– –

OoC: Here on tumblr, my main tumblr I follow from is @theconstructsworld, or on Discord at Elysium#0072

IC: WrA Alliance in-game name is ‘Garrenne’ (A MG version will likely pop up at some point too!) - He will not be IC in game until the timeskip happens on November 15th! After that he’ll be found mostly in Dalaran, and around various casual events being hosted. Always feel free to approach me in-game, or if you’re shy you can whisper me too!

#info #character info #garren #character sheet #wyrmrest accord #wra

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safrona-shadowsun · 9 months

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Time/Fireworks

{ Daily Writing Challenge: Mini Mode, July 28-30, prompted by @dailywritingchallenge. }

More than a few contacts had been made at the year’s past Fire Fest, but for once, Safrona had given herself ample time to organize new names into Empyrean Import’s folders, instead of making such tasks a prime directive in her life. Time had been better spent assessing new Porters and attaching to them minor contracts, and to graduating those to an official Courier title that had proven their commitment to the business. Time was also better given to reacquainting herself with the lucrative gem trade, falling into the small obsession of the perfect cut of a gem, finding new masterworks to trade and keep to her own collections. Time was most importantly spent extending her skill in darker arts, observing the evolution of her own demons, or becoming aware of new entities and their dangerous potential.

So it was with a renewed curiosity that she found the envelope nestled among the few fliers and menus she had collected from the vendors of Firefest, one that stuck out among the many promotional efforts - it had been addressed directly to her: Lady Safrona Shadowsun. It took her a few scattered moments to recall the hand that had given it to her: a young Sin’dorei girl beginning to bloom into a lady, waiting for her on the first day of the Festival as she stepped off the boat into Ramhaken. The daughter of a vendor, Safrona had thought at the time, perhaps sent to greet visitors and urge them to particular stalls. A girl that had no doubt been dismissed before the sinful Tarts would have performed later that evening. Wennefer had nearly ruined the day for her with the polymorph spell shortly after; that Safrona remembered all too clearly, along with developing an intense dislike for rabbits in the short amount of time she had magically become one. Thank the stars for the Kaldorei women that broke her out of the form - they should have been names she remembered better.

Exhaling at the embarrassing first day, Safrona refocused on the envelope in hand and its undiscovered missive. Even the wax seal had managed to remain unbroken, shaped into the rays of a rising sun. The folded parchment inside was thick, the handwriting upon it penned all in an elegant, flowing Thalassian. And with every word further that Safrona read, she felt her heart burn, and plummet into her stomach.

It is finally good to see you, and I hope this letter will find you well. Time has been cruel to the Dawnsinger family, and though I have been told not to seek you, that I should consider you dead to us all, I can’t help but feel different. I am in my 17th year, and I feel like I should begin to make my own decisions. And so here I go with this letter, for you. Auntie has told me a lot about you since you were lost from us. She has told us that you have lost your memory, and she helps you to remember who you were. I hope that I can help. My name is Seranas (Serra) Dawnsinger, and I am your daughter. Your son Quelios (Lio) is younger by 8 minutes - we are twins. We were born to you and our father, Queldis Dawnsinger, on the Isle of Quel’Danas, a Captain of the Farstriders. He gave his life to protect us and secure our escape on that horrible day when the Scourge came. He loved you very much. Auntie Wenne helped you raised us in a very dark time, I know. Even when we lost you in Dalaran she tried to always be there. The rest of the family left, I don’t think they believe you are alive. Most think Auntie Wenne has went mad, and most of them consider that she has betrayed our nation by joining the Ren’dorei. To be truthful, I think Lio has accepted this as truth too. He hopes to be a Farstrider like father, and serve our people like he did. He won’t listen to me or Auntie about you. But for myself, I trust Auntie and know she has always had our best interest at heart. I will always be grateful for her in our lives, even if no one else here understands. I don’t think I fully understand what happened to you, or why you chose the Void, but I want to try if I am ever able to see you again. Time can do many things to us, but it does not change the fact that I am your daughter. I will always have a love for my mother. And, I hope one day it can be us together on Midsummer, watching the fireworks light the night sky. All my love, -Serra

Emotions collided violently beneath cool composure, and Safrona almost crumpled the letter up to shove it back into its envelope to sever herself from touching it, flinging it onto the counter top of Empyrean Star Trades. Void energies fell over her skin like an entropic veil, scarring the wooden counter with a deep, purple fissure as she sought to calm the anxious rhythm pounding in her chest.

The words written were so very sweet, and felt so very wrong.

#safwriting #About Safrona #warcraft #julydwc2023 #dwcminimode2023 #safrona-shadowsun #Serenas Dawnsinger

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galderthefuzzy · 1 year

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Reprieve The large Draenei relaxed into a chair beside the bed. He mindlessly scratched at his bare chest, fingers brushing over the thin scars in places. Pulling the book over, he marveled again at the weight of it. Which in turn caused him to chuckle inwardly at the the circumstances that had delivered it to him. Hours earlier, Niquisse had knocked on his door, a large bundled held to her chest. When he answered, his brows raised to meet his crest. “Sutrakarre was not expecting Niqi today. No session was scheduled.” He gestured for her to step in and closed the heavy wooden door behind her. “I know. But I did want to thank you for all you have done for me over the past few years. And I came across this,” she offered quietly. Stepping into the small area at the front of the house, she set it down on the desk with an audible thunk. The Ren’dorei woman moved to the chair she typically rested in when they spoke at his home. Her dark curls fell in front of her face and a glowing tendril curled outward to move them back into place. He stepped to the desk, his expression only growing more curious. “This is unnecessary. Sutrakarre does not do this for Niqi’s payment. Sutrakarre is already paid by the House.” He carefully tugged at the red silk ribbon that had been tied in a large bow over the embroidered fabric that wrapped the unknown contents. “Consider it a gift then, rather than renumeration,” she offered. He nodded and lifted the ribbon away, then carefully unfolded the fabric. Once done, a large, thick tome bound in time worn leather revealed itself to him. The cover bore only a single rune in gold leaf. Light. “What is this Niqi has brought to Sutrakarre?” “It is a copy of a text we had in our family home when I was a young girl. That one was destroyed. Sort of a…guidebook? I am not quite sure how to explain it. It has all of the traditions, manners of worship, proper decorum of the followers of the Light as practiced by the people of Quel’thalas.” She shifted slightly in her seat, peering at him. “Sutrakarre thinks this is a fine gift.” He opened the cover, the beautiful runes on the pages immediately filling his vision. “This will be a new challenge for Sutrakarre. Learning how to read Niqi’s native tongue.” “Oh, I hadn’t considered that. I… damn…” She sighed, hanging her head. Rising from the chair, she reached for the book. “I will find a more appropriate gift.” The Draenei closed it and laid a massive hand on its cover. “There is no better gift than a way to understand Niqi better. Sutrakarre will learn the runes and learn about Niqi from the text.” He smiled gently and bowed to her. “Sutrakarre thanks Niqi for this. It will be a worthy adventure.” Niqi met his bow with a low curtsey, her skirt pooling on the floor around her. “You have been a great help to me and to our family. I hope you know how much it has meant.” “The better question is, does Niqi know? Does family know? Will Alassë grow to know?” His last question was spoken with much tenderness, the golden light in his eyes meeting the blue and violet of hers. The man’s hand came to rest across the back of both of her shoulders. He gave a gentle squeeze. “Most important thing is that one knows of one’s own strength. Sutrakarre didn’t help Niqi. Niqi helped Niqi. Sutrakarre only listened and asked questions.” Niqi rose and smiled, shaking her head a little. “And that was how you helped. Enjoy the rest of your day, Sutrakarre.” He inclined his head, smiling again. “Niqi as well. Give hugs to Alassë from Sutrakarre.” “I will.” As the memory faded, he looked down once again at the page. It had been months, but the runes were finally coming to him with far more ease. Turning to the next page, he began to read again, old feelings of the warmth that was found in the Light beginning to stir. As they built up within in him, the runes themselves seemed to shimmer, then glow before his eyes. As they did so, they almost took on a life of their own, rising from the page and flowing into his mind with less and less effort. Perhaps the Light could still hold the same love for him after all. A Christmas commission I had the pleasure to work on for the wonderful @tindomielsilverthorn. Thank you for commissioning me!

#wow #warcraft #World of Warcraft #draenei #fantasy #paladin #oc #original character #fanart #gaming #tome #magic #holy magic

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alliesweetsong · 5 months

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LFRP: Allie Sweetsong

Face/Voice Inspiration: Gal Gadot

SERVER: Moon Guard

-BASICS-

Full Name: Allisel Sweetsong though most just call her Allie

Pronunciation: Alley-sell

Name Meaning: The meaning of Allie is “noble kind”.

Age: Adult (Elven Equivalent of late twenties)

Race: Quel’dorei turned Ren’dorei

Gender: Female

Sexual Orientation: Straight

-PHYSICAL APPEARANCE-

Hair: brown

Eyes: Sky Blue

Skin: fair, warm toned

Height: 5'7”

Build: Athletic, toned

Clothing Style: Out in the field: Light, leather armor, something that allows for swift movement but doesn’t skimp on protection Off Duty, lounging about: Casual clothing usually something to support a pistol holster.

Jewelry: Ear Piercings

-PERSONAL-

Class: Hunter

Profession: Allie has served as a bodyguard and bartender. During the 4th war she served as a combat scout where she came into her own. Though officially discharged from Active Duty among the 7th Legion, post war she maintains relationships with those she needs to, should they have need of her once more.

Exercise Habits: A Morning Run to the range, A run back to her home and weight training

Diet: Mostly high calorie stuff

Physical/Psychological Ailments: None that any see.

Birthplace: Quel’Thalas

Residence: Duskwood

-RELATIONSHIPS-

Father: Taimal Sweetsong (Alive)

Mother: Eona Sweetsong (Alive)

Siblings: unknown

Relationships: Happy with @theron-valteric

Children: A son named Coron

(Art by @art-zoratrix )

-SKILLS & ABILITIES-

Talents: Superb Aiming and weapons discipline. Trained in archery, but has since picked up a rifle instead. has the ability to read a given situation and analyze how to approach

Shortcomings: Can often misjudge people and their intentions, (Seeing them as a friend when really an enemy etc) “Loyal to a fault” is known to lose her temper rapidly if arguments escalate

Languages: Common,Thalassian

-MINDSET & MANNERISMS-

Temperament: Mostly warm, outgoing, friendly. Has a sunny disposition.

Speech Style: Eloquent though she still gets hung up on common phrases that humans use.

Hobbies: reading, making explosives and munitions, relaxing beachside

Habits: Drinks socially

Drive/Motivation: Literally to help others. As cliché as that sounds. She enjoys helping others complete menial tasks or large missions. She doesn’t do it for money, nor notoriety, in fact she tends to get embarrassed if people recognize her. She does it to make Azeroth a better place.

Fears: Being surrounded, fire, has underlying abadonment issues, doesn’t enjoy super large crowds, Warlocks

OOC:

A bit about me i've been roleplaying for a little over a decade. From WoW to Star Trek to FF14. These days I don't have alot of time for super long rp arcs in game but i do still enjoy those. I mostly enjoy writing slice of life, atleast right now while im getting reacquainted with Azeroth after 3 years, but i enjoy a wide range of rp too. Will mirror most people. Im super outgoing and pretty reasonable. I do have anxiety so if you see me huddled in a corner somewhere don't hesitate to walk up! Im usually just to nervous to start the interaction.

#moonguard roleplay #lfrp #allie sweetsong

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myzariel · 1 year

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Myzariel Arilyth

The Basics ––– –

Name: Myzariel Arilyth

Nickname(s): Myz, Mean Myz, M.

Age: Old enough to not have time for bullshit.

Birthday: October 17th

Race: Ren’dorei

Gender: Female

Marital Status: Married to herself.

Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: Deep purple

Eyes: Eerie white or deep purple if using void magic

Height: 5’11

Build: Athletic

Distinguishing Marks: Nothing that can be seen in normal attire.

Tattoos: None that can be seen in normal attire.

Piercings: Ear lobes

Common Accessories: When out in the world, her crossbow and a well-worn monster hunting journal. If in the city, nothing out of the ordinary.

Personal Information––– –

Profession: Monster Hunter / Operative for Unit Eight

Hobbies: Wood carving, trap making, leather working, and horse riding.

Languages: Thalassian, Orcish, Common

Residence: Bounces from inn to inn depending on where she’s going.

Birthplace: Quel’thalas

Religion: N/A

Patron Deity: N/A

Fears: Dying to her prey, fire mages, and tight spaces.

Relationships ––– -

Spouse: N/A

Children: Doesn’t have any, doesn’t want any.

Parents: Both deceased.

Siblings: None

Other Relatives: TBD

Pets: A black horse named Revara.

Sex & Romance ––– -

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Preferred Emotional Role: submissive | dominant | switch | non-existent

Preferred Sexual Role: submissive | dominant | switch

Libido: Can be high if she finds someone she can tolerate. Otherwise non-existent.

Turn ons: Not being annoying.

Turn offs: Being annoying.

Love Language: Unknown

Relationship Tendencies: Rarely sticks around long enough to form any sort of relationship.

Traits ––– -

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––– –

Smoking Habit: Occasionally.

Drugs: None.

Alcohol: Indulges when she can.

#WRA #Alliance #IC #RP #WoW #Void Elf

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ultimatewowdursgate · 11 months

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DWC May ‘23 - Day 7

A quick pre-story note… this is for a character I haven’t written or written about yet. I’m still fleshing him out but I know enough to do this story. All you need to know is his name is Xelavyr and he’s a Void Elf Rogue.

TW: for a little gore late in the story...

Aftermath

It had seemed like a simple task. A dissident group was consorting with the Alliance and dabbling in dark magics that shouldn’t be invoked. So the posh buggers at the peak of Silvermoon’s hierarchy, through enough intermediaries to ensure plausible deniability of course, were seeking someone to be a man on the inside who could provide them with all the intel and dirty little secrets that could be used against the group.

Xelavyr had no qualms about this. He’d lost family in the Second War fighting for the Alliance and lost yet more when they decided to massacre loyal Blood Elf citizens in Dalaran during the trouble in Pandaria. The Horde welcomed his people and they helped each other through. Over time they felt far more like his people than the Alliance ever had.

He didn’t care much for all the posh mucky mucks above him in Thalassian society but he was proud to help against the Alliance in any way he could. Even if principle hadn’t been enough to motivate him the pay sure helped!

So he did what he did best, infiltrate and observe. Make ‘friends’ and subtly try to turn them against each other or back in favour of a more loyal path.

He wasn’t too concerned about the void. One magic’s much the same as any other and maybe it could help Silvermoon. So he focused more on influencing people to loyalty than on actually trying to interfere with the research.

These things take time and he made himself appear every bit the helpful member of the group while never really caring for them in any true sense at all. Some where decent enough people, but none could make him question his loyalty to his home and the Horde.

Time passed, research continued, he influenced things as best he could in the direction he preferred. But eventually, well; you all know what happened. none of those in the community were spared the Void’s corrupting influence, not even people who had no interest in it and had simply been doing their job.

...

It had taken a fair bit of time before things calmed down enough that he could sneak out unnoticed. He immediately rode forth for Quel’thalas. He’d snuck out many little reports with what information he could during his time on the mission and of course heard nothing back, those were the rules. But what had happened would have to be reported to someone. His people needed to be prepared for these powerful, dangerous, corrupt rebels.

... it hadn’t occurred to him that he’d be seen as simply one of them. He was apprehended and captured promptly and despite giving away all that he knew there was no way he’d be allowed back into his homeland.

He could understand the logic keeping those inflicted with the void away from the Sunwell, indeed all of Quel’danas to be cautious. Maybe even Silvermoon if they were so concerned. But no, the void elves would not be allowed anywhere in Quel’thalas... or anywhere else among the Horde.

...

Escape didn’t prove too difficult. The darkness of the void helped him blend into the dark corners of the cell. Eventually a guard came in to investigate his ‘escape’ giving him the opportunity to actually make it.

Within the blink of an eye he was behind the guard and had grabbed a ceremonial dagger from their hilt. In an instant the guards throat had been slit and his body hidden under the sheet of the cell’s bed.

...

He ran and he ran. Eventually returning to the Alliance’s borders in the aftermath. His corruption was visible like most of this new group of Ren’dorei. If it weren’t he may have tried to stay in Quel’thalas. Even in the Alliance he would have to discard his identity lest they realise he’d been leaking secrets. But one more nameless, faceless void elf would go unnoticed in the slums and dark places of the Alliance cities’ shadier districts.

He discarded his family name, in his captivity he learnt that his one surviving brother had denounced and disavowed him to secure the rest of the family’s estate. And even his first name as he was no longer the man he had been. Simply going by the alias “X’ and whatever fake name he cared to use when asked for more detail than that.

#X (Xelavyr)#Warcraft #DWC #my writing #Elves #Void Elves

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tristayranambrosio · 7 months

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The Things Forgotten and Reforged (Final)

The whispers of the void are the things that you hear when left alone with your thoughts on the darkest nights and the lamp oil’s run low, the sinking maddening smallness you feel in the face of a vast endlessness of the infinite… a gaping waiting maw meant to engulf your sanity feast on it shatter it and drink what little of it remains, divvying up the shreds of what once was a person. It is terror, and the blackest pitch of the unknown. We grow to learn that fear above all others: The unknown. Their voices carry that fear like an echo, reaching out into the spaces between stars and the immeasurable distances between. They remind you of how far one star is from another, and then how small one is in the face of a star… The Darkness is the insurmountable goliath that feasts on even the faintest dimmest flicker of light and hope, and swallows one into the lack of all things… Ever hungry as the meals it makes of the lost parts of minds that lived and died in the infinite of potential’s pitch dark womb is never enough to sate it as the yawning abyss of nothing stretches wider with every possibility. No place illustrates such a fact more readily than the alien landscape of the Rifts a Ren’Dorei walks as a path of initiation. Trist remembered his well as traumatic as it had been. When the Riftwalkers discovered his deceit, that he had lied about his abilities, or rather forged a means to escape yet another genocidal warchief after having barely recovered from the first one that had put his friends into slums and treated them like second hand citizens, they showed him very little sympathy or kindness. They shaved Trist bare ensuring no tentacles or eyes had emerged, then left him clutching his lute to his chest, alone… to survive or to let the shadows take him, then retrieve what ever the madness didn't take of him.

Little did they know Trist'Ayran would eventually be found no worse for ware, the only real difference being that what had once been a vibrant rose red mane of hair had some how become… brighter a hue of his more familiar magenta pink that given his relatively modest stay in the isolation had grown back far longer than it should have.

Trist found the dark overlook he had sheltered at in the seemingly unfeeling dark. In truth it was far from the first time he had curled up on stone huddled in the pitch black nothing, and many times it had been without his steadfast companion. He looked to the familiar instrument in his arms, his calloused fingers knew the grain of her endlessly constantly re-repaired surface the way most knew their own faces. Hypernia was a PART of him… born out of things that were forgotten and discarded, Cast aside by those who thought the pieces of something broken were not worth saving. In his youth and through his entire adult life he had toiled and polished her, made her something better than the sum of her parts. There were many now who had told him she was proof of his unique school of magic, his being some strange unpredictable power to mend things that were broken, to inspire that which the world had turned its back on, to prove all assumptions wrong… and soar to new heights of potential. Hypernia had been there since the first… and he had carved the rose he’d been given so long ago into her weathered cracked surface so that even when the first gift he’d received wilted he’d always have it with him.

His fingers strummed the golden strings and the lute complied with a delicate reply, in tune, naturally but Trist still reached to touch the pegs Leo had given him… The day the world saw them as spouses, would be the same day he had received them too.

His mate… His magnificent perfect mate… he had never dreamed, hoped… that he would have someone who could read him as easily as Trist could Notes on Staff. Years ago if there was any need of proof that Hypernia was part of his soul’s reach Leo had shown it by taking her into his arms, and her becoming a vision of Midnight Blue, Moonlight… and melancholy.

That had only been the first time the remarkable instrument changed, years later, she proved capable of more, like Ithilios had unlocked her potential… Maybe it had been because he had played her here, just as Trist had to stay sane when he’d first endured the trials of the Rift, but since then his Companion instrument had simply become whatever instrument he had need of. Now it was no different. Trist had gathered so many tokens and trinkets, pieces of their lives together… He’d asked for strands of Hair from those who meant something to Leo, their children, their family, their friends, their lovers… all of them Trist had braided into a single strand of multicolored Hue… He’d asked Leo’s ancestor to grow an Oak born of the acorn gifted by his first real love’s spirit where they once performed, or so Trist had imagined, then pulled the branches he had need of down each patterned with the spiderwebs that once wrapped his beloved in respite in the dark, threads from the Tapestry that observed their first kiss silently… smoothed glass from the fountain where they had met… Birch branches infused with the magic of the riverside where they had first made love and knew what it was to be whole, a gift from their future and the little girl that had no blood to share between them but who had -made- them into the Mates they were… Trist Grasped the last of the salvaged pieces of their story in the hand opposite the one holding Hypernia and read the familiar name over… and over like a prayer. ”Starstrider”

It had meant nothing to Leo, a name the parents who’d abandoned him as a child left him with, but for Trist… For Trist it had been the name he hung on every night they were apart before they were a ‘they’. He’d whispered it in his dreams, heard it in his music, like the -gravity- of his Midnight’s name was enough to pull him from the infinite realities they walked to wind him deeper and deeper into Leo’s embrace… Being with his Mate… it felt like striding in the stars… without him Trist would have no wings, and without the smallest gesture of kindness that had shown him all those years ago he was seen Hypernia in hand as something divine in his simplicity of triumph, something worth a priceless hard earned rose… “Hypernia… I need your help for this…” Trist said softly to his lute, for anyone who knew him… this was no new behavior… did it make him seem mad? Most likely, but when your only company in the darkness was a Lute, and a distant song from the yawning abyss as reply and answer… it wasn’t all that surprising that he felt a connection. Trist placed the scrap of the old Violet Hour sign against his heart and reached out his now free hand. Trist could count on one hand how often he willingly permitted the darkness that he had accepted into himself those years ago in this same place to seize his very being… In passions and in moments of true emotional catharsis it could not be helped, but to succumb to it was not something one ever did lightly. Control was something Trist had honed to a razor’s edge and perfected as a pitch or key that remained steady as a wardrum… but for this…

Hypernia’s strings reverberated and twisted in his grasp, her shape shrinking then melding into a pure white gold starlight condensing and reshaping. Trist’s hand closed around her new form, the Baton with he conducted orchestras. She felt smooth in his palm but still showing the fractures of kintsugi along the reach of the conductor’s baton. As the shadows claimed his form his body became a tapestry of starlight and cosmic black… the raw potential he was manifested in the unseen… Wings dotted in void stricken eyes opened behind him as did the star bright magenta of his void form… the mundane shadow he cast what little remained of the shape he was for most everyone. The extra pair of arms grasped the found trinkets and materials, as Trist’s voice rang as a Chorus of his possibilities, existing in some state of what could be in all realities at once.

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Wading through rivers, Of tears and blood. Whispering shadows, And hollow love. Thought I was happy, But I've never smiled, The way I do when I'm with you. Through the deceptions, The corrupting void. Light in the darkness, I heard your voice. A handsome melody, The sweetest face. And everything fell into place… This song he’d sung to Leo here… now as he sang his hand swept the baton in the air and his wings swept him up into the unstable gravity of the cosmic air. As if Trist were an artist, he tapped each star visible and in the space of creation and possibility they each winked out note by note… casting him deeper and deeper into the dark, where his Mate’s own power lay always, answering his songs with one of his own, sinister to all those who were blind to the beauty of shadows and the absence of light.

We're infinite… I can feel it, In every kiss and every scar. I'll hold you close, As the cosmos dies, And sing you a new one, star by star-

Trist flew then and the stars answered, as did the shadows between, his arms weaving a framework born of a newborn constellation that did not shed light but rather levitated piece by piece the parts he’d gathered. The unearthly chorus seemed to suspend time and cradle each potential, to dance between possibility and the infinite. La daa daaaam La dah dum La da Lah da da dummm The bard spiraled upwards and around lost in the euphoria of the power of raw potential, conducting each swell and eddy in the void like the night itself was the partner in his dance. Hair no longer strands but rather a nebula of the same pink and galaxies of what could only be glimpsed in the embrace of the dark…

The Midnight Lion, And Autumnrayne. Starting a fire, That nobody can tame. Closer than soulmates, One roaring flame. Gravity tied us together. With cords that no blade can sever… Trist sang on and at his zenith above the Ren’dorei training camps… it was as if all the stars had been extinguished, arms and baton guiding a swell from what would be the strings… the melody carried by the woodwinds on the infinite breaths of those who took refuge in the darkness and called the shadows friend. His body became a conduit for an orchestra born of the cosmos… the great dark beyond… and all the endlessness of what is… was… and could be. Each part of his findings followed, like comet trails on his heels swept into the dance, the symphony of music one only heard when you listened to silence… and magic one only saw when their eyes were closed. We're infinite… I can feel it, In every kiss and every scar. I'll hold you close, As the cosmos dies, And sing you a new one, star by star- Trist’s eyes flew open and his body shuddered with the coursing power lent to him… bolstered by the kiss of his Mate’s aspect in the form of the dark that made his own potential all the brighter. He felt… massive and yet infinitesimal in the grandness of it all, but before he was lost in awe and existential dread… he seized it. His voices calling raw possibility into reality… And Starstrider started to come into view.

Life is now whole. The Oak… the Birch… the scraps of Salvaged wood… formed the curve and sweap… Endlessly colorful… The strings wound themselves on pegs and fangs or antlers, gems setting themselves in hollows Trist’s steady hands had carved… No separate roads, The cracks that were between the disparate pieces seared white silver with moonlight and starlight and the fool in Trist’s image slipped unseen inside within the body as the pillar neck and T-brace took shape with kintsugi of it’s own set with the stars Trist had stolen from the rift itself… 'Cause we're one soul- Trist’s voices echoed and fractured… his every possible self erupting from him, each a part of this orchestra, each a different string, or fret, each a different bell a different sound, cast out from him on a wave of magic that rippled creation… as if the universe too a deep breath before the calm collapsed in on itself… like some dying star, the gravity of it turned in on the newborn ‘Starstrider’ before him. Trist’s eyes returned to their ethereal selves, feeling well and truly spent as his words slowed and became… a lullaby. The one that he had written from the poem Leo had written about him so many years ago, a song derived of Leo’s Poetry and Trist’s oaths, whispered between them when they knew one another's' arms were… home…

We're infinite… I can feel it, In every kiss and every scar. I'll hold you close, As the cosmos dies, And sing you a new one, star by star- Ahhhhhaar-

Trist reached to delicately pluck the instrument newly forged from a stolen star’s creation from the air where it hung as he seemed to stride step by step down from the impossible heights he’d soared to in the cosmos above the Riftwardens’ spaces, the licks of darkness that had turned his skin into something apart of the space he was wandering, using for its music peeled away slowly, his wings flickering and fading. He sang the last notes of the melody, their melody as he glided down holding both Hypernia and her new sibling Starstrider in his arms. The Hand Harp that Trist prayed would be her equal… her twin in all things. His husband deserved nothing less as they began their lives together a-new.

(And fittingly I've just not had time to finish the Drawing... but say Hello to 'Starstrider' the Instrument Trist forged in Hypernia's image)

(On a related note thank you all so much for reading this Long winded story about Trist's creative process I hope it was entertaining and @ithiliosstarstrider thank you for being the inspiration)

#moon guard #world of warcraft #wow oc #roleplay #bard #short story #Youtube #enchanter

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luckygriffin · 7 months

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Rhaethas Ashsong

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brightbell · 1 year

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Daily Writing Challenge – February 2020 – Day 1 – Love is in the Air/Weakness

Cynedra flipped the sign on the boutique’s door to “CLOSED” and pulled off her gloves, tossing them on the counter. Scooping her long, blonde hair up into a loose bun, she sighed and rubbed her eyes.

“Finally!” she said, to no one since her shop was now blessedly empty.

Love is in the Air was over and done with, for another year at least.

All the Ren’dorei woman wanted to do now was go home, run a hot bath with lots of bubble bath, and sink into it, with a cup of her favorite tea nearby. It had been a long few weeks, even with the days off she had given herself this year, and she was exhausted, her hands were a mess of little cuts from rose thorns and callouses, her feet had blisters on top of blisters, and her shoulders felt like she had been holding up the whole of Azeroth instead of just moving flower pots, vases and little gifts.

All in all, it hadn’t been a bad year. She had made quite a bit of gold from the pre-orders she took leading up to the holiday, and that wasn’t counting the “last minute” gifts and arrangements she had sold at a markup. Sometimes she felt bad about marking up the prices for this holiday, but then she looked at her hands and feet, and decided it was justified.

Being a florist during the most popular love holiday on Azeroth was not easy work.

A few years ago, when she had just been setting up her business, it had been a lot harder. She didn’t have her own shop for the Boutique, she had a tiny garden and even smaller green house, and she’d had to cart all of her wares into Stormwind City to the stall she rented every morning, set them up, and then cart them home at the end of the day. She had worked every single day of the holiday that year, and she thought she may go mad from smelling roses after that.

The worst part was that she had been completely alone. She had not yet met Raikis, and was years away from meeting Natheus, so spending those weeks around happy, in love couples had been a struggle. She knew she should be grateful that she had a home, no matter how small the cottage was, and the beginnings of a lucrative career… but watching smitten young ladies smile at their new beaus, or couples that had been together for decades always tugged at something deep inside and made her feel her exile from her homeland even more keenly.

She believed it to be her greatest weakness, that she could not put aside her personal feelings of loneliness to try to enjoy the holiday and all that came with it. Only after meeting Raikis did she understand why she felt that way. He made her happy in a way that no one else had before, even if they couldn’t be together as much as she would have liked. Just knowing that he would be there if she needed him made her feel better. And then she had met Nate, and although he was gone to the Isles for now, she felt like with him she had found a kindred spirit. His love of plants rivaled her own, as did his love of nature.

Cynedra was so unbelievably happy with the two of them, that even the “worst” holiday, in her opinion, had been made bearable. She had even made gifts for them on one of her days off, and she couldn’t wait to see them again so she could give them the gifts.

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#Daily Writing Challenge #Daily Writing Challenge Day 1 Love is in the Air/Weakness #Cynedra #Raikis #Natheus

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