#weleria and eleeria
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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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Weleria and Eleeria in their wedding dresses by @flamehaired
#ooc#character art#weleeria#ellie#eleeria#eleeria silverwing#leria#weleria#weleria silverwing#weleria pyresong#i love these cute lesbians so much#good and loving wives
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Inspections
The night had been anything but a typical one for the Warband. The darkness had brought the first of the enemy’s counterattacks and another not long after it. First, an assassination attempt on his general, something not too surprising. Second, an attack by black clad knights in the dead of night after flares had been used to allow snipers to pick off soldiers in trenches. He’d watched this all from his flagship in the bay outside Northwatch. While the Warband recovered its dead and redoubled their defense after the failed attack, Azkaellon watched from the prow of his ship. Soon, he got restless to the point he ordered a boat be prepared to take him ashore.
He sent a peon ahead with the message to his assigned guard, though he expressed he would be fine and she should stay to her duties to her men for now. He conveniently left out his intent. The boat landed at the middle of the no man’s land and he pulled up a black cowl over his head. His golden plate absorbed by the blackness of the night.
He walked through the battlefield slowly. Craters from artillery, pieces of bone and decaying meat under his feet. He finally came to the wreck of a demolisher and moved closer to examine it, kneeling before it. There was a Human slumped against it, female and slight of form. She was armored like the rest, silver and blue standard issue plate. A green tabard with the golden lion’s head roaring. He looked her over, she’d been shot through the chest by an arrow to the heart. Likely, it was one of Silverlight or Lei-Mei’s shots, far too accurate for mass arrow volleys. On the right pauldron there was a symbol. A black sword pointing down with wings on both sides of it.
His brow furrowed, all the symbols not making sense and not known to Horde command yet. He’d hear reports of the enemy being from Lowenherz, but none of the descriptors matched anything they knew. He sighed and rested down on both knees, lowering his head. Despite the woman being his enemy, he brought his hands together and prayed. He prayed for her soul and that she found rest and then, he stood up. He turned and walked back the way he came, then up towards the camp.
Words echoed in the back of his mind now, ones he’d heard before. “You’re the one that asked for this, the burden of command.” But, he hadn’t. Everything in his life had been out of his control save for a few instances. His time as a career soldier he tried to his best efforts to remain unnoticed. For hundreds of years it had even worked. The highest he’d gotten was as an elite guard for nobles to employ. But even then, that took him higher. Now, it had taken him to one of the greatest heights he could ever aspire to. A Warlord.
He didn’t begrudge his position or wish for it to end, he’d taken to the role surprisingly well. Despite his hatred for paperwork. His feet carried him quietly up the hill as he thought of these things, nearing the main trenchline of the Warband. Suddenly, his reverie was broken by the yell of a man he’d come to trust. Aeravhir, his personal Chaplain. “Halt, who approaches! Stop or we fire!”
He sighed and stopped, dropping his cowl and speaking back, not bothering to yell. “Your Warlord, eyes front, and get someone to Light damn relieve you Mithtaliel. You’ve been on the line the entire day.”
He didn’t bother waiting for their confirmation and just kept walking, ignoring the Chaplain’s speaking of how it was his place, and so on. He just snapped back. “Now. Before my temper runs short, boy.” He spoke, the man listened. He heard him get on the communicator just before he was out of ear shot.
He made it into camp and started quietly inspecting the artillery and other tools of war. Admiring E’risse’s handiwork. He found a soldier standing guard and spoke to him for a bit on what he thought of the general. Of course, he spoke glowingly. Though it was made more meaningful by the fact that the man didn’t know who he was. Azkaellon learned early on the power of being far away from most of his men, enigmatic. When he got into conversation with the average soldier and they did not recognize him, they spoke much more openly.
He asked more and more of the guards on duty about the General. Not a single bad thing said aside from a few saying they wish they had broken the keep on the first day. After all, no one likes a siege. He was content with it, and when he saw the glowing red eyed figure of Weleria move from the medical tent for one thing or another, he pulled his cowl back up. Moving to take his leave again without garnering any notice.
(Mentions: @eleeria @summers-Light @theirondragon @autumnspyre @aeravhirmithtaliel @blackheart-warband )
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resurrection
She returned to the woods in the mountains overlooking Arathi alone, with only her own tumultuous thoughts for company. Loam and underbrush crunched underfoot, but Eleeria did not bother to try to remain silent today. A year, and yet -- she was still so angry. The names had changed, the people different, and yet everyone really remained the same. More lost to the brutality of others; more lovers dead for reasons beyond their hands. Erinius has been killed for money, Weleria to SI:7 looking to capitalize on Ysrathil’s weakness. Neither had been the direct cause of their own reckoning, and yet, it hadn’t mattered to any of those who had killed them. Eleeria’s anger had not diminished in a year. It had only grown stronger.
A year ago she had walked this path through the forests in the middle of nowhere; a year ago, she had come upon the same broken bridge, the faint game path she’d been following trailing off into the ravine below.There stood the table -- the bottle exactly as she had left it, faded note still upon it, where she had sat it down last year. Only one sip. Last year, she had hesitated to touch it. Today, Eleeria swept the bottle up into her hand without a second thought, putting it to her lips. The liquid inside chilled her to the bone, her fingers growing numb almost immediately as tiredness swept down on her small frame. Eleeria moved to the edge of the ravine, sitting down a foot away from it; by the time her body fell backwards against the earth, her spirit had lunged forward, across what was now a whole bridge, as she passed into the Shadowlands.
Eleeria Silverwing was walking among the dead.
Stay on the path. She did not need to remind herself. To lose her way in the Shadowlands was to watch her soul drift off into death along with Weleria’s; today her will had to be iron, hand gripped tightly around the magic of the Sunwell that coursed through her even in this ethereal state. When she had walked this path before, she had been nothing but a shade. But today, she was a flame: flames were wrought in her footsteps, light magic weaving behind behind her as wings flaring from her shoulder blades. In her hand, Eleeria carried the blade of light she had seen only in her dreams: forged from holy fire, it surged with every footstep, reverberating with anger. She knew there were monsters here in the Shadowlands -- things drawn to doubting souls -- but no longer would she run from them. Eleeria was ready to fight if they approached, but the light seemed to ward everything off, those shadowed creatures staying at the edges of her holy aura.
The walk seemed shorter this time. With no companions to follow her steps, the shades of the dead seemed to gather in swarms. They were not sentimental remnants of loved ones past any longer. Instead, the shades were malevolent -- people Eleeria had killed and sent to the Shadowlands by her own hands in centuries of work as an assassin. We remember you, foul bitch-- you shot me! Ten times! -- I never got to live to my wedding you monster of a woman! She ignored the screeches and cries, marching ever onward down that winding path without daring to step foot outside of it, until the shaded necropolis came into view.
She remembered that the time before, it had struck her as impressive. Now, it only stank of death and wrongness to her senses. How could people live here, somewhere between the land of the living and the dead? It always baffled Eleeria that such a thing was possible -- and yet, here she stood, soul pulled away as her mortal form slowly fell into death itself. The longer she wasted on staring, the more danger her proper body was in; she tore her gaze from the scenery and continued inside with a deep breath.
“We did not expect to see you again.” There they stood: a semicircle of necromantic power. All of them frail, all of them human -- somewhere between life and death on their own terms. But even in their home of power, Eleeria felt confidence in the pit of her stomach: should it come to it, she could burn them alive. “We had thought you gone to where those who follow the light go, their afterlife of ease and comfort.”
“I am not here to die.” Her voice was sharp, and she brought her weapon forward, pointing it at the centermost necromancer. “I am owed a life debt, necromancer. I’ve come to call it in.”
The old man laughed, his voice paper-thin and reedy. “My dear, we owe you nothing. Put that sword down before you put out an eye.” He still thought of her as that uncertain child, then -- that woman seeking purpose and meaning in the hands of death. But Eleeria was no longer so wanting; she had found her purpose, had found love and cherished it. She was not about to lose it again. A flick of her wrist and light magic surged for his form; the man leapt back, his robes catching fire. He rushed to put it out with a shriek of pain, as if she had struck at his very soul.
“I gave you Tellarian.” She took a step forward, and then another; the semicircle of the half-dead hovered, uncertain if their attacks would even reach her as sheathed in magic as she was. “I gave you thousands of souls. And you never brought to bear your own part of the bargain!” Eleeria lunged into melee, dodging a necromantic spell cast for her midsection -- the light shield around her cracked and splintered, and the men dove to dodge its pieces. She grabbed the head necromancer by the neck, lifting him to the air. His fingers found hers, her hand going numb; still she held on, refusing to let go, even as death crept into her being ever so slowly, halted by the magic in her own veins.
“What--what do you want, then, child…?” He struggled for air, and Eleeria knew if she wanted to, she could end him where he stood. Instead, she continued to hold onto him, staring him in the eye for a long moment.
“I never want to come back. Promise me, Eleeria-- promise me you won’t let them bring me back--”
She couldn’t keep that promise, after all. It was selfish; she was drowning in her own grief again like a bad recording of time and space, but unlike Erinius, this time, she could fix it. She could make everything right.
“Bring back Weleria Dawnsteel.” It was a dark pronouncement. “Bring her back to me. Tell no one who sent you to resurrect her.”
“You know that she will not be as she was...surely…?” Despite his imminent peril, the man smiled, cruel and unforgiving. “You are damning her to eternal unlife…can you live with yourself, paladin…?”
“I’m not a paladin.” Her hand clenched tighter, and he struggled, gasping. “I’m a fucking Blood Knight. The Light doesn’t own me; the Light doesn’t tell me what to do. So don’t sit here and try to moralize at me, because it doesn’t mean shit. Now…” Eleeria threw the man backwards, letting him slide across the ground. “Are you going to resurrect her? Or do I have to kill you off, one by one, until you comply? Bring her back and I’ll leave you in peace; deny me and I’ll make your half-lives a miserable hell.”
The men looked between one another in silence. To a man, they nodded. “It will be done. Leave us. You came to us with barely any time, and we must go to work.”
With a breath, Eleeria woke in her own body, staring across the broken bridge and the ravine below.
And somewhere, a pyre started to burn.
Belore, what have I done?
#writing#wyrmrest accord#weleria pyresong#weleria and eleeria#weleeria#a host of questionable decisions
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Time of Death
Continuation of THIS.
The Light warned her something was off well before she made it to the front door of their Suramar apartment. The sensation was like a shiver down her spine; a sense of inherent wrongness, the briefest feeling of stay away! like a whisper from her magic. Disappearing swiftly, only the lingering raise of the skin on her forearms reminded her that something was less than completely normal.
Eleeria frowned, hand hesitating for only a moment, an inch away from the translocation orb. Her magic never lied to her and yet — how could anything be wrong? She had left for work early from the Cove this morning, Weleria departing for Suramar aboard one of the merchant vessels. Weleria would surely be waiting for her; they would go out for dinner as they had planned, with only a laugh spared for the way her magic had falsely warned her from danger not present. Reassured by her own rationality, Eleeria sighed, touching the translocation orb and reappearing in their apartment.
The scent alone told her she should have heeded the Light.
“...Leria?”
It was too quiet. No sounds or smells of cooking wafting from the kitchen; no lights were on across the apartment, and Eleeria wondered briefly if Weleria was sleeping. But then, a nap would hardly account for the smell that she had so often recognized before; that scent of death, blood and the slow decay of flesh. Eleeria moved slowly into the living room, something in the pit of her stomach warning her away from turning on the lights. The crunch of glass beneath her plate boot caught her by surprise -- she glanced down, then up, noting the hole in the skylight. The jagged edges of glass pierced the night, and Eleeria stared for a long moment, fear trilling down her spine.
“Weleria?” Her voice rose in octave and urgency, the broken skylight providing light enough to maneuver around the furniture and towards the stairs. Panic rose in her chest, and she willed it back down, pausing to take a deep breath.
Think, Eleeria. Trained assassin’s eyes scanned the living room; quickly,she noted the broken glass, the faintest hints of blood on the carpet -- scrubbed with something hastily, as if to get rid of them. Her fingers trailed the shot holes on the banister. Eleeria pulled her fear and anxiety down into the part of her she had long since learned to repress, until all she could feel was a muteness, a dampened sense of self. With her focus highly tuned, she took a soft breath and climbed the stairs.
Even with all of the training she had had in her long life -- all of the people she’d seen in various states of death and decay and gory trauma -- she was not prepared to see Weleria Dawnsteel dead on the landing.
A shock rippled through her, and despite her best efforts Eleeria knelt in the dried blood to stare at her lover for a long moment. It was an effort to maintain her composure. Several deep breaths later, she reached automatically for the light, letting it wash over Weleria’s body.
She was dead -- long dead, by the look of her body. Her shotgun lay close by, shots to the stomach the evident sign of death -- oh, Lirelle-- no, she couldn’t think about that. Eleeria forced herself to think of nothing but clinical sterility, of medical procedure, and cast her magic like a net over the body as if Weleria were nothing but another patient in her infirmary. She checked for a pulse, for a thread of what must have been Weleria’s soul tethering back to her body; she checked for any sign of life still left in the person she loved most in the world and found absolutely nothing.
For a moment, Eleeria’s hand hovered over Weleria’s chest. It shook with suppressed emotion as she checked once, twice, for any sign of Weleria’s soul. It was one of the first things she had been taught about resurrection: the soul had to keep some tether to the body to walk back to it naturally. To force a soul back from the dark beyond without its permission, to grab what did not wish to stay in the mortal realm any longer and put it back into a shell, would not create life. It would merely be necromancy -- undeath.
Nothing. There was nothing she could do. No light could bring Weleria back.
Eleeria swore she could hear the laughter of the Thing beyond the shadows in her ears as she extinguished the light magic held in her grasp and sat back on the bloodied floor, hands smearing her lover’s blood. Do you wish you had chosen the path of shadow now, little Sun?
She could not respond; she didn’t want to respond. Mutely, she shut the whispers of the void out, her hands focusing on other tasks to keep her from answering. Eleeria picked up her communicator for the Warband, magical signature contacting Ysrathil almost without thought. Though she heard the other woman’s voice on the line-- Ellie? Hello? -- she couldn’t speak. Eleeria knew if she opened her mouth, the tears would come -- the dam would break. Her silence these long minutes was holding back her sadness, keeping those feelings pressed into that dark corner.
Please answer me, Eleeria--
“Ysrathil, I...I....” The wall collapsed. Eleeria sobbed into the communicator, pressing it to her cheek as if she could physically cling to the small thing like she would a real person. Tears fell down her cheeks, and though she had smeared her face with blood she could scarce feel it. For a long moment she struggled to find the words to convey what was happening. There weren’t any words to convey her grief.
“I know you’re busy, but I-- need you to come home right now, please, please come home, it’s Weleria-- something’s happened...”
Eleeria couldn’t hear the response over the roar of her emotions. She did not even realize that she had broken down into mute tears for long, long minutes after that until the sound of the communicator’s disconnection rang in her ears, leaving her alone to mourn for her best friend.
@saronite-dawnsteel @autumnspyre
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💭 for Weleria
“Weleria is my best friend. Though sometimes we don’t see eye to eye, I enjoy her time over almost anyone else’s. I do worry about her, though-- for all that she talks of honesty and morality, she’s quick to discard those feelings when it comes to her own self. Looking inwards and confronting the demons within is often the most difficult task; I wish I could help her with it, but I’ll be there to support her regardless.”
@westfall-weather
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Goodbye
Mentions: @autumnspyre
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“Why do you have to leave?”
Expectant green eyes stared up at Eleeria; small hands clung to her winter cloak, bundling the woolen fabric as if she could will her mother to stay in Quel’thalas by preventing her from moving from this very spot. Weleria had already said her goodbyes -- tearful, tragic goodbyes. She had moved on outside before Lairen could grab for her, but Eleeria had been grabbed -- and now was stuck with the difficult task of explaining to a five year old why her mothers were leaving.
Never did she feel more alien in her own home than when she was dressed for war. The Cove was elegantly furnished, graceful and coastal design meant for receiving noble guests. The bulky, red and black armor that Eleeria ensconced herself in, weapons packed alongside winter clothing, seemed so out of place for a home of noble luxury. Lairen, in comparison, seemed to fit perfectly: her fluffy red curls draped over her shoulders, soft blue dress stained with mud from this morning’s romp through the stables. Eleeria couldn’t bear to pull her way away from her child without at least attempting to explain -- and so she felt obligated to remain, and try.
“Lairen...” Eleeria knelt, her plate armor clanking against the smooth marble of the foyer. “You know that your mum and I fight to save people.”
“But the bad dead are coming here too....” she sniffled. Eleeria frowned; she hadn’t anticipated water works, but perhaps she should have.
“They’re not in the Cove, beautiful girl.” She carefully pulled her daughter into a hug, mindful of the points on her armor. Lairen buried her head into the black and red fabric, the twin snakes of Blackheart, and began to cry in earnest. Eleeria let out a soft sigh, petting her daughter’s hair as best she could. “I promise, they won’t get to the Cove. It was safe the last time , it’ll be safe this time too.”
“But I want you here!”
“I know. But mum and I -- we’re needed in Northrend.” Her voice was quiet. She didn’t want Lairen to know that Weleria thought they were both going to die. They had discussed it privately, of course, but there was no need to worry Lairen incessantly.
Eleeria wasn’t certain what she thought. But this goodbye did feel final.
“I wanna go too!”
“Lairen, you can’t.” Slowly, she pulled back from the hug, looking down at her daughter. “I’m sorry--”
“Why?!” The tears were beginning to turn to a full on tantrum. Eleeria knew they were needed at the front; she knew that the soldiers needed their General. But right now, she had to be General Minn’da; she had to find this time for her daughter. Even if she was going to be late to her own war.
“You’re not old enough.” That short, curt answer seemed to stop Lairen’s tears in her tracks. Clearly the little girl had anticipated a far less direct answer. She stopped long enough to listen, at any rate, green eyes welled and brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry, Lairen. If you were older, you could come as my squire, as mum’s squire. I know you’re working so hard. I know you’re training with Vanaal, and with Calithea. But you’re just not old enough.”
“Next time....can I come? I’ll be older then?”
Eleeria paused. No, of course she couldn’t. There either wouldn’t be a next time, or the next time would be so soon... The mother’s instinct in her rebelled against the very idea of seeing her precious daughter run off to war. She wanted Lairen to have a future free of bloodshed; she wanted her daughter to grow up never knowing how to take a person’s life. Never having to see that happen. Never having to live with the consequences.
Why is this world so hellbent on making warriors out of our brightest children?
“...yes,” she answered at last, worried to wait too long would incite more tears. She patted her daughter’s shoulders, plate heavy against her soft skin. “Yes, you can come with us next time. But right now, your grandmothers, they need someone to protect them. You have to be our brave warrior here at home. Can you do that?”
Lairen nodded slowly.
“Thank you. I love you, Lairen.”
“I love you too, Minn’da.” Slowly, the cloak was released from her hands, and Eleeria stood. “Come home soon. I wanna show you all the things I draw.” It was a sad, desperate plea. Eleeria turned her head, her body -- not wanting her daughter to see the tears that had come to her eyes.
“I will, baby. We’ll be home soon, I promise. I love you so much.”
And she left for the continent that no one came back from.
#wyrmrest accord#writing#rp writing#Eleeria Silverwing#weleria silverwing#lairen silverwing#the long road home#pre-expansion#warcraft
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self-doubt
(CW: Mentions of self-harm and suicide.) @autumnspyre
--
She locked the bathroom door behind her, sinking slowly to the floor with her back against that solid wood. Eleeria buried her head in her hands, shoulders shaking slightly. It was suddenly, and inexplicably, too much to bear -- the guilt, the grief of losing so many people in two months; Eleeria sobbed into her hands, grateful for the momentary privacy afforded her by her bathroom’s meager lock.
She couldn’t feel the Light any more. It was that sensation of absolute wrongness that had woken her from her thistle-laced sleep -- the sensation of being cold and empty so unusual for her now. She carried the Light as an avatar of the Sunwell wherever she went; now, with so much trauma bearing down on her, so many people expecting her to pick up quickly and move on -- it was dull, a hollow warmth compared to her normal sunshine. The guilt will kill her. They’d said the same about Atila, and Eleeria knew that the words rang true for herself as well. The guilt about Karis Sunseer would kill her, eating away at her confidence and faith in herself until she could only grasp for embers and ash rather than the force of the Sun.
Eleeria didn’t even bother to try and reach for that beautiful, healing magic she’d called on so thoroughly not hours before to resurrect her Initiate. On some small, damning level, she knew that it was beyond her for now as she wallowed in grief and self-pity. It should have hurt, knowing she’d not only broken Karis’ optimism but her own strength. But instead it was merely a dull ache, one of many inflicted by herself or others over the past long years.It should bother her. But at the moment, Eleeria couldn’t see anything but her own failures.
She had failed, hadn’t she?
Do you see it now, Little Sun? How great the cost is of your kind and gentle Light? A whisper, a breath in her ear. “Go away,” she mumbled. Her mind still felt dull with the remnants of bloodthistle, even as she stood up, hands gripping the sink with force as she stared into the mirror. Dulled golden eyes stared back at her; where normally they shone with the blessing of the Sunwell, tonight they seemed merely tired. Eleeria swore she could see the Thing from her knighthood trial hovering behind her, her tired gaze hovering somewhere in the middle distance as she focused on its shadowy twists and turns. “Stop haunting me. Stop following me. I want to be alone.”
It was silent for a long moment as it contemplated her words.
She could hear Weleria knocking on the door.
Do you understand now, the difficult task you’ve created for yourself? When the Thing spoke, it was gentle; it reminded Eleeria so much of her father, in those days after she’d lost her hand. Her father, carefully picking her up when she’d tried to take her own life, calling for a mender. She yearned to be held like that again -- to have someone care for her when she could not for herself. Eleeria pulled the mirror open, revealing the drawers within. Fingers trailed the items inside, grasping the hilt of a knife that she slowly pulled from its hiding place.
“Yes.” Her answer was soft. Weleria’s increasingly anxious tone could be heard from outside the door -- (”who are you talking to, Ellie?”) -- but she couldn’t answer at the moment. Tired eyes shone back at her through polished metal as she examined the weapon she kept hidden in case of emergency.
Do you want to be done with this? To lay down this heavy burden?
“Yes.” She could feel the Thing’s cold fingers on her neck. It felt the same as it had all those days ago in the Ghostlands. Eleeria couldn’t breathe; her fingers slipped, the knife slicing her real palm deeply as it clattered into the sink. She gasped, in shock and sadness both, eyes locked on the Thing of the Void that seemed to dog her every step these days, waiting for the smallest doubt to make its entrance. “I want to be done. I’m so sad...”
Let me take it away from you. It was a lover’s embrace, the touch of shadow on her collarbone. Eleeria leaned back into the Creature’s hold, the sting of her palm a mute pain now. I could make it easier for you. We could do this together. Unlike that fickle magic, I’d never expect so much of you.
(”Eleeria, I’m giving you until the count of three to open the door!”)
“I...” She hesitated.
(”One!”)
Come to me, Eleeria. Its voice was so tempting. And yet-- there was something still inside of her that recoiled at the thought. Promises, promises -- but nothing solid. There was nothing tangible in those words. She could not see the benefit to herself through all the soft promises. There would be only damning, terrible darkness. And Eleeria would not be alone in the darkness any longer.
(”Two!”)
“Get fucked.”
She broke that connection -- for a brief moment finding strength in her own surety. Her healing aura flared, filling the holes that had been so empty long minutes ago in the pit of her stomach, driving out the void. The Thing recoiled, hissing curses in tongues she had no understanding of aside from the malice contained in the tone.
She could not lose the Light. It hadn’t left her. Eleeria knew it had only waved because her own faith in herself had; she could not risk to lose either of them. She had to be strong. As the Thing in the Dark recoiled and seemed to disappear, its icy fingers leaving her neck, Eleeria turned, fumbling with bloody fingers to open the lock.
“Three--” Weleria’s soon to be kick at the door was ended as Eleeria stood there, feeling the monumental crush of her own sadness -- but the gentle touch of her own magic once more, easing the burden so she didn’t have to carry it alone.
“I’m fine,” Eleeria whispered. Even as her lover wrapped her arms around Eleeria’s tiny frame and she relaxed into someone who genuinely cared for her, her magic flared around the injury she’d given herself, sealing it closed. “I thought about it, but I couldn’t do it. I’m okay. I promise.”
She let Weleria hold her, the forsaken woman’s fingers trailing her hair, until she fell back to sleep.
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A Letter from the Front
My dearest Champion,
My soldiers utilized the elements of surprise and terrain admirably. The Alliance wasn’t prepared to face a cavalry team charging down their flank, nor to find our casters raining fire upon their camp from above. The only curiosity is an SI:7 ambush which struck our back line from a cloud of smoke. Why they were there, how they knew of our attack, and why they didn’t inform the Alliance forces are all beyond me, and unfortunately, both operatives met their ends with evidence of their orders. Regardless, we faced only a trickle of soldiers from the mines rather than an organized front, and the Blackheart soldiers cut them down just as swiftly as they emerged. We routed the Alliance forces and swept the mines to clear out the stragglers. Dame Eleeria even freed a handful of Forsaken captives, including the Dreadguard Captain Verisen, who is incredibly grateful for our aid. I’m told the Gnomish foreman put up a very dishonorable fight rather than surrender, but he was ultimately subdued and captured along with a surrendering soldier. The Azurelode mine belongs to the Horde, but I worry for the island looming upon the water. I should hope Purgation may be shelled into oblivion in the coming weeks, but for now, it is out of my hands. A concern for another time.
Fond regards,
Knight-Master Weleria Pyresong
PS: Centurion Silversun has requested a copy of this report be forwarded to her.
@saronite-dawnsteel @blackheart-warband @okayheyoallfia
#ic#leria#weleria#weleria pyresong#ellie#eleeria#eleeria silverwing#ysra#ysrathil#ysrathil dawnsteel#paladin#blood knight#meli#melinath#melinath silversun#priest#blackheart warband#the lordamere war#battle for azeroth#blood war#bfa
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Eyes Once Mild
The cold swept her face, an icy chill running down her spine as the thick, stagnant air choked her breath. She let out a hacking cough as she rolled onto her side, snow clinging to her hair as what little stomach contents she yet had came heaving up. Her hands shook as she braced herself against the snow, lifting up slowly. A boot planted on the ground, only for a sharp pain to run up her leg. An agonized groan escaped her as she pushed through it, coming to rest on the other leg. As she stood up, the scene came into view. Clouds of green gas rolled and billowed over the steps of the dreaded saronite gate, the field choked with figures - corpses - in various states of advannced decomposition. It all came back to her.
In full retreat, they ran. She could hardly see over the crowd before an Orc bowled her over. She had shielded her head, heavy sabatons treading and kicking, tripping over her as she curled in on herself. Dried blood clung to her face, her pallour pale as she limped forward, looking over the field of soldiers. All semblance of life had long left this place, ghouls turned to skeletons, skeletons to dust, Horde and Alliance tabards and armors bleached of their colors and stripped of any metallic shine. The sound of draconic wings could be heard in the diatance.
Footsteps crunched the snow behind her, followed by the click of a hammer being drawn back. She turned slowly, facing a quartet of disheveled humans and Dwarves clad in their prideful blues and silver, the barrel of a long rifle raised to the red and black of her tabard. She barely moved, breathing heavy and shivering in the chill air. She let out no protest. With her leg dragging behind her and the cold beginning to take its toll, she was unlikely to see respite anyway.
One of the humans raised his hand, placing it atop the firearm. The dwarven rifle lowered slowly. It was a cruel mercy to deny her this - a soldier's rest amidst foes and comrades. It would have made the heat rise furiously to her face, had she any to spare. This pity, this indignity, was more mockery than she could bear under normal circumstances, but in the moment, she simply had no choice. The human shook his head, and thw Alliance soldiers turned away, leaving her with her waning strength in the piling mounds of snow.
She staggered and limped, trudging into a sparse wood and grabbing branches for balance. When her legs gave out, no longer able to carry her, she crawled, clawing through snow and handfuls of permafrost. She could hear the chatter and slavering of the mindless all around her. The sounds seemed to be drawing closer, pushing her onward even as sensation faded from her left hand. She could barely move it, and the right was surely soon to follow, but she raked and clawed at the ground for one more inch, one final act of defiance against the encroaching peril. She could hear the bones rattling behind her, snow crunching under irregular footfalls.
"It's okay. You're okay..." a familiar voice rings.
Weleria's eyes flicker open as a whirl of warm colors assault her senses. The air around her is noisy, warm, and dry, and she lets out a low groan in protest against the sun. As the blur of motion begin to subside, her eyes fix upon an unfocused figure, red hair and yellow eyes leaning over her.
"Eleeria," she says, flexing the fingers on her right hand but seemingly unable to do the same for her left. The noise of Orgrimmar's front gate were seemed out by the wounded and dying around her. Her left arm shifts slightly, finding itself bound in a sling.
"Eleeria, my hand..." she groans in a hoarse tone.
"I couldn't heal it... I'm so sorry."
Weleria's eyes focus upon the mournful figure looming over her, sparing a glance down to the sling and finding only bloodied bandages where once there'd been a hand. Her breathes come slowly, albeit shaken, a lump graduallly forming in her throat.
(Mentions: @eleeria )
#writing#leria#weleria#weleria pyresong#eleeria#eleeria silverwing#blood elf#paladin#blood knight#bfa#battle for azeroth#battle for lordaeron#siege of lordaeron
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🌺 Who are your current RP partners?😳 Who is someone you’d love to RP with?🙁 Is there a character of yours who you wish you had more RP with?
🌺 Who are your current RP partners?
We’ve got the Wife, the Incomparable, @autumnspyre . We RP almost every single day, even if it’s really silly things like Weleria and Eleeria getting groceries. Some of those day to day scenes are my favorites.
I also have the excellent @spellthieve who I RP with on my demon hunter, but also on Eleeria. Isoria’s fangirl letters to Eleeria amuse the hell out of me, and they definitely need to get cocoa sometime. And of course the wonderful @lormeus whose characters almost all know some of mine at this point. Lormeus and Eleeria are some of my genuine favorite scenes to roleplay, and Ailos and Eleeria are also excellent.
😳 Who is someone you’d love to RP with?
Going to answer this with people I have never had a proper 1 on 1 scene with. In which case, probably @safrona-shadowsun or @kharrisdawndancer , the latter of whom I have RPed with in passing at Cakes, but never very seriously.
🙁 Is there a character of yours who you wish you had more RP with?
Ilaena ( @ilaena-furiae ) is my demon hunter who I LOVE....but as always with characters who are newer, it’s easy to fall into the “well Eleeria has all sorts of friends already so why expend the effort?” trap. But I actually write and play her quite a bit, so I would love to meet more people on her!
#asked and answered#i would also like to RP with you some more#obviously eleeria is very horde#sometimes that makes it hard#but she can be very polite! she isn't mean#newsnerd-ooc
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Falling
Mentions:@autumnspyre @lormeus
---
Fear is for the weak.
Her father had taught her that. Fear, in the moment of combat -- in the heat of action, the moment before the kill -- would make one weak. Hesitation would stop a blade faster than any plate or magic. If she stopped to be cerebral; if she hesitated on her course of action, then she would be lost. The Light only reinforced this teaching: it, too, required absolute certainty. Eleeria had never felt the sudden chill of her holy magic pulling away from her, and she was not interested in ever seeing it disappear. So, she made herself believe. Every choice, every difficult decision, backed up with mental certainty. She did not act until she was certain of purpose.
She had no doubts about what she had done.
The ensuing battle had been difficult. Lormeus was a sight to behold when holding nothing back -- and Eleeria had to admit her own prowess with a blade had grown since taking up study with Ailos. But even so, they were no match for the dark-winged creatures.
But as she held onto Lormeus’ hand, the shattered sky above them growing larger as they neared it, she stared into his golden eyes and felt, for the first time, absolute fear.
Gods, we’re going to die.
As Lormeus screamed for help from Odyn -- as she slammed all of the fledgling death magic she possessed into the chains binding them -- she could only think of escape, and the safety in the saronite-strewn fields of Icecrown. At least there they wouldn’t be beyond whatever was up in the sky. She would rather impale herself on the rocks below than find out what awaited them in the orange-tinted realm beyond. Then Lairen and Weleria could at least--
No, you can’t think of them. You have to fight.
Eleeria managed to get her lower body free of the chains that bound her, hanging onto Lormeus with all her strength. But it seemed to no avail; Odyn’s help did not come. Perhaps it was her. Perhaps he would not help her best friend in the entire world because of her own moral failings. She was not a Valarjar; she would never be one. The thought that Lormeus was going to actually die because she was with him was more than she could--
The crack of lightning that hit the winged creatures, as well as Lormeus and Eleeria, snapped her thoughts from spiraling. Instead, she tumbled into a physical spiral: she could see the orange-tinted morass beneath them, no -- to the side of them, their bodies tumbling through liminal space as Odyn’s “aid” sent them off trajectory.
This is what Weleria remembers, she thought, as she stared down into what felt like a sea of fear. Holy shit.
I don’t want to die.
The thought hit her forcefully, as Lormeus seemed distracted by something in his own memory, his grip loosening on her forearm. The fight had taken a lot out of him, she could tell -- it had taken a toll on her as well, her magic waning -- no, strangely out of touch in this...wherever this was. Beyond the veil. Her free hand reached out, grabbing onto Lormeus’ shoulder as they fell for what felt like both an eternity and no time at all. Reaching out, wrapping her arms and magic around him with a decided push of the Light.
She could have sworn her hand brushed someone else’s as she reached -- a familiar, callused pair of fingers, the familiar tattoos branching up his thumb -- but it was just Lormeus, and her, and the ground rising beneath them--
His magic joined hers as he came to his senses just in time, strengthening the divine shield around them just before they crashed into the ground.
Eleeria’s arms were wrenched free of her friend as the impact shattered their shield; she could see he was unconscious, and yet she was still flying -- her shoulder snapped with a sickening noise, head snapping back as the collision with solid ground forced her vision upwards.
Vision. She could see. The colors above her normally blind gaze were beautiful; she wanted to reach up to them, but she couldn’t feel her arms. Something in it called to her -- not to the holy magic that wound itself around the pit of her stomach at all times. But rather, to the essence of death that had been instilled into her back in February. Back when she had nearly died, herself, and come back from that experience filled with power she didn’t understand. She realized she had no energy to stop her body from its trajectory, injured and exhausted as her body skidded against the ground, and simply...let it happen, her body falling limp.
I’m sorry Weleria.
At least, I’m going to die somewhere nice. And not there.
She felt the crunch of bone in her skull against something solid before the world went dark.
#wyrmrest accord#writing#rp writing#shadowlands#lormeus lightsword#eleeria silverwing#the shadow odyssey
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3 - Masks
“Like a Shadow”
(Set in the present time.)
-
She felt the heavy helm settle over her head, the uncomfortable stillness as it blocked out her measly sight from her injured eyes following swiftly after. Eleeria took a deep breath, trying not to let her anxiety get the better of her. She was not in the dark, alone; she was standing in the Cove, Ismene standing a few feet away from her. The older woman’s arms were crossed, her expression severe -- or they had been, before she placed the suffocating contraption of leather and magic over Eleeria’s head and taken a step back.
Eleeria didn’t quite understand why Ismene had shown up in the Cove. She rarely understood what the older woman did on a good day -- like a feral cat, she seemed to keep her own company. Weleria often joked that the two of them were much the same: solitary creatures, moving through life at their own speed, stopping for only those that they deigned excellent enough to speak to. Eleeria didn’t think the comparison was terribly fair, but then, she acknowledged that she too often disappeared without warning.
I am here to help you embrace what is yours by birthright.
That was all she had said. Eleeria couldn’t help her conflicting feelings about her mother, if she could even be called that. Showing up like a maelstrom of void and secrets the year prior, she had inserted herself forcefully into Eleeria’s life without a second thought for how she had been so very absent the four hundred years prior. It was a bittersweet feeling, as the woman who had abandoned her to die now showed back up on her doorstep, and Eleeria had kept a distance between them ever since their first encounter. But she couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief at the idea that Ismene may be able to help her control her strange and uncomfortable new magic. Lyctora’s teachings were instructive, but sparse -- some difficulty with the Shadowlands, was all Eleeria managed to gather. It had been some months since their last contact, and dead silence was all she received when she tried to contact the mysterious woman.
“Let go of the idea that your eyes are for seeing.” Ismene’s voice was sharp and instructive. Eleeria’s ears flicked back as she heard -- nothing. Her mother was as quiet as the dead when she moved, and the long hall in which they stood for fighting practice echoed enough that it was hard for her to pinpoint her direction. Eleeria swiveled her head, and stumbled -- a sharp prick of her mother’s dagger finding her shoulder.
“No.”
“Motherfuck.”
“I don’t fuck my own daughter. Pay attention. Your eyes are a farce now. You do not need your eyes to see. By layering your magic in front of your eyes, you’re limiting yourself. Relax, and let the magic and your other senses inform you of what’s around you.”
Ah. That was the reason that she’d put the overly large helm on her head. The leather sat completely over her eyes, preventing her from using her eyes as a medium with which she perceived the world. Though Eleeria was, by all acounts, very nearly blind, more than once she found herself trying to see with her eyes rather than with her magic. And in some ways, she realized she had limited herself in such a way. Magic did not need to settle in front of her eyes to see. Magic could go anywhere.
Ah, shit. She’s right-- right beside me.
Eleeria clumsily dodged the dagger headed towards her face, stumbling back. She moved on instinct, letting her ears and -- slowly, cautiously -- her death magic inform her mother’s movements. The chill that came with her new magic filled the room with a sudden rush, and Eleeria swore she could hear her mother’s huff of approval.
“Perfect.” Ismene’s whisper held small traces, for the first time, of absolute pride.
Seeing really was a farce. Had she ever needed to see, in order to be so...present?
By letting her magic channel a visual plane into the Shadowlands beyond, much like a death knight traversing through reality into eternity in the visual sense, Eleeria could sense the things around her. The difficult part was telling the specters from the physical; by letting her magic expand naturally, rather than keeping it reigned in, it became much easier to tell who was a denizen of the land beyond and who was firmly moored in mortality. If anything, it was as if she straddled two very different places that happened to be focused on top of one another.
Briefly, she wondered if she might be able to use that to her advantage one day; Eleeria didn’t stop to consider it however, as another swipe of her mother’s daggers had her hastily drawing her own. The next slash, she parried with the sharp sound of steel.
Eleeria didn’t even notice the physical changes: the lessening of her breath, the chill of her skin, kept only ambient by the persistent connection to the Sunwell nestled deep in her chest. She didn’t even bother to turn to Ismene as she held her daggers at the ready.
“Alright, minn’da. Let’s dance.”
@daily-writing-challenge
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6. Are they dominant or submissive? 7. What kind of underwear do they wear on the day-to-day?
6. Are they dominant or submissive?
Incredibly dominant. Everyone sees Weleria and Eleeria together and generally assumes it’s the other way around -- Weleria has a very forceful personality in public, and Eleeria is generally content to let conversation flow by her and chime in when necessary. But really, Eleeria is very much the dominant one in their relationship, which is exactly how they both like it.
7. What kind of underwear do they wear on the day-to-day?
Two different kinds, depending on what she’s doing that day.
On a day when she wears armor (which is, most days when she has duties at the Blackheart Keep or in Silvermoon), she wears very practical underwear. No frills, generally boy shorts and a sports bra-style for support and to hold her chest in to make it easier to put her plate on. She likes the longer style underwear, as it helps protect her thighs from chafing, and layers are good for protection. She doesn’t have time to pick wedgies (and couldn’t even if she had one...the problem of plate).
On rare days when she gets a day off, she admittedly is a little more feminine. I am sure she still likes underwear that isn’t revealing absolutely everything -- that’s pretty uncomfortable! -- but a bikini cut with lace and a scalloped bra, feminine and fun, would be her ideal if she could be a civilian every day of the year.
@autumnspyre for mentions of The Wife!
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♡: who is the bigger romantic openly? secretly?
Openly, it’s definitely Weleria. She’s always been the person who’s more romantic of the pair in public -- when they started seeing one another, it actually hurt her feelings that Eleeria is not huge on open cuddling, kissing, stuff like that! Eleeria over time has compromised to accept hand holding and some light kisses (like a kiss goodbye or hello), but she’s definitely keen on coming off professional and reserved in public.
Secretly, though Eleeria really could take or leave romance -- I would personally go so far as to say she’s on the aromantic scale -- she recognizes Weleria’s need to feel special and cared about in a romantic way. So she spends a lot of time doing things just because Weleria would like it, or because Weleria would be surprised by it. Which hilariously makes her the more romantic person, but she genuinely loves her wife and wants her to feel satisfied and happy.
@autumnspyre for mentions!
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HAUNTED - When they’re suffering are they willing to admit it? To who? Why or why not?
Eleeria is absolutely not willing to admit that she is suffering. Not even to Weleria. She has very little she likes to share about things that she is scared of or hurt by. It’s one of the biggest issues she and Weleria still have in their relationship is her absolute lack of communication when it comes to issues she’s having. She’d “I’m fine!” herself to death, and almost has before. It is definitely a pride issue, and a little bit of Eleeria being still a feral cat at heart.
@unabashedrebel
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