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“There is something to be said for the joy that comes with feeling the sun on one’s skin and the wind in one’s hair.”

#this is soft im soft #⥑Ω⥏ appearance.

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@lightsblade​ asked: if i chop off ur tail does it grow back

if i chop off ur arm does it grow back

#lets try it yeah :^) #we'll do you first #lightsblade

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holyforged​:

     Darkness wreathed Anduin, eyes flickering shut against the onslaught of her words, an augury he deplored. But the Light… oh, the Light in all its empyrean wonder, the Light whose flame danced in every life, the Light which dealt its hand in comfort, hope, and everlasting warmth ― where was it now to ignite his bones and chase away the sickening chill that plagued him?

     Your Light is abandoning you, as it does all. Her voice, a haunting echo.

     In the shadows lies our truth. Their voices, a chilling whisper.

     How severely it wounded him to stand at the precipice, watching the consecrated water slip through the cracks in his fingers and drip into the maw of menace until the trickle ran scarlet with lifeblood; his own, the thorns wrapped profusely around his heart, his throat, rending him spent for all that he ever was. Courage had masked fear. Resolution had overshadowed frustration. Perseverance snuffed grief. Hope blanketed loss.

     Yet every step into the light inevitably cast a greater shadow behind him.

     Desperation sank its teeth in nonetheless. Gauntlet clad hands wrapping around Shalamayne’s hilt, he cleaved the air before him, a sweeping blow that would connect with nothing ― save for the dimming incandescence in its hollow eye would glimmer ablaze in its finality, radiating outward in an arc to purge all that would stand in its path with a burst of holy inferno.

     The bite of the ground was unforgiving against Anduin’s knees, the clatter of his sword a dull, resounding echo nearly lost to his senses. His brow, laden in sweat, pinched together in the abhorrent wake of a beloved thread severed. Of one stringing together anew in the deep vacancies of his heart. ❝ I told you, ❞ he whispered between heavy breaths, gaze affixed to the unfocused shapes of his fingers dragging shallow trenches in ash, ❝ to be… quiet. ❞

Ephemeral bonds shatter, released in the fleeing shadow of one who thinks she has achieved something- and perhaps she has as his own form shifts in ashen cloud, great wings spanning to catch the updraft from magma below. In the wake of it he knows time is running out, that each second spent here is one more resounding step toward a precipice from which there might be no return.

This is not how it is supposed to be.

And even as his bones revile it, condemn it as he hears all to well a whisper that fringes dangerously into madness and desperation, he strays closer in lazy glide until talons clatter stone with each step. Bumps snout against Anduin, heated whuff of breath tousling hair. “A king does not belong on his knees, Anduin Wrynn.” And even too as his heart lurches painfully at this sight, at this threat of that which N’zoth seeks to steal away and make his own it is a terrible sort of fear that consumes his core.

Fear, not unfamiliar to him, a thing that had accompanied him as an old friend from before he had even hatched. All of that, that which had inspired him to run and run and run suddenly pales in this moment. Here, now, confronted with a fear far more tangible, the price of loss far, far greater. This then was the price of having something- someone- to lose.

You should not have come, he thinks with that same sickly feeling. Instead sighs as scales become flesh once more, as a hand reaches and curls about bicep to help haul Anduin to his feet. To offer him what little steadiness he might. “It seems age has not dissuaded you from rushing into foolish situations, hm? Come, is there not supposedly wisdom in age, dear king?” Opts for familiarity as comfort, ill-equipped to provide it any better than this.

#holyforged

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The Badlands were not a place Wrathion frequented of his own volition often, content to leave behind a grim tale as best he might. But when Alexstrasza had reached out with gracious invitation to meet in the wake of N’zoth’s so called defeat she had been equally as gracious in her lack of place- perhaps choosing to leave it to skittish black who bit back at any perception of chains, of orders. 

Stormwind and Blackrock then had been off the table as surely as the Vermillion Redoubt had been, each one holding connotations Wrathion didn’t much care for. It was just bad luck then that the Badlands was the land that rest neatest between them all, ugly place that it was with a far, far uglier tale attached. Better here though he thought with a dull irritation as sun beat down where he sat reclined upon great boulder, taloned fingers etching grooves against it where he raked them against in idle thought.

He wants to be glad, wants to be relieved that it is over and yet as he sits here with gentle breeze that does not reek of the ichor if Ny’lotha. Wants to find comfort in the sun above he basks over that does not harbor the same rancid chill of an eldritch hell. Yet in the end he cannot help the discontent that rests under his skin, sits heavy in his gut as a sharp warning. Wrathion had long, long ago learnt to listen when his body screeched that something was wrong. It was usually correct.

She arrives in great gusts of wind beneath mighty crimson wings, a true leviathan against he who might seem so very small by comparison. “You will forgive me if I do not bow,” he huffs, as churlish as ever with one leg crossing the other in a pointed sort of petulance that even now he was reluctant to relinquish. Especially here surrounded by the bones of his kin, of siblings, of a mother somewhere beneath the sands. 

Blessedly though he offers her his focus in earnest, cautious gaze affixed to the dragon queen. “Your invitation seemed troubled, Life Binder.” She felt it too.

@warwaged

#i did not spend an hour looking at an eastern kingdoms map tryna work out where the fuck twilight highlands were #(yes i did) #im very rusty pls forgive #warwaged

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hmm

#i just think all of the celestial trials were really telling of wrathion's character #and i love them all :^) #when will blizzard reach this level of writing again? #never obviously they're a fucking trash fire right now

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so, uh, obviously I’m here...

i think the best approach for me, personally, is to just generally start fresh threads rather than try to continue old ones bar stuff with novi since that’s extensively plotted. i appreciate this might be frustrating for some folks, and certainly understand any irritation that might result. but unfortunately it’s my blog :^(

if anyone wants to start something, whether we’ve rp’d before or no, i actively encourage you to dm me either on here or discord if you have me. i likely won’t be as active as i was before due to being in the middle of uni hell and still working etc, but i’ll certainly do my utmost to respond to things in a timely fashion which should be easier come end of may once my module for uni ends until october.

#thank u... #⥑Ω⥏ ooc.

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@holyforged​ asked: Throws a snowball... at Wrathion's face. :^)

he will simply eat the snowball thank u :^/

#why are u like this #what did i ever do #holyforged

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PIRATE DRAGON

wrathion’s new class

#⥑Ω⥏ ooc.

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Oooof, I finished it! 

#⥑Ω⥏ appearance.

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#me about All This #⥑Ω⥏ ooc.

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hi flower ily and I miss you

hi mel ily too ;v;

#warwaged

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@holyforged​ asked: holds up a collar ;^)

Brow arched sharp, amused, as accessory was stolen away, twirled upon finger with thoughtful hum. Connotation surely understood, but just as surely was it deliberately misunderstood, clever fingers working at buckle of soft leather, opening it, considering it, before smiling that sharp smile of his that never bored well for any it was turned on.

Anduin should have known better, really.

“Why, if you needed help dressing yourself surely you have people paid for such things? Though I suppose I am in a good mood, so--” And swiftly, if carefully, was rogue behind king, settling collar to his neck and fastening it just tight enough that were he to swallow he might feel press of it.

Hands pat upon broad shoulders, trailing as Wrathion stalked around him, settling upon chest with clicking huff of approval. “You’re most welcome, my dear king.”

#bark bark bark #holyforged

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holyforged​:

       If the world was drenched in shadow, dipped in a Stygian plague from the profoundly immoral and wicked, was Anduin not part of the torrent of light, the cascade that flooded the deepest darkness and chased it away? The hope of the morning, the dawn’s radiance that sent the shadows to cower? (What if the sun were swallowed whole in the night?)

       For all the repudiation in the world, the words struck true, loosed like an arrow plunged in poison to seep him of what solace he managed to cling to. Cold sweat dribbled down Anduin’s countenance despite the volcanic heat licking his skin. The pinpricks danced, icy needles along his spine; the unfathomable, intelligible whispers, a cacophony of hushed voices, ebbing and flowing in the recesses of his mind at her beck and call. No, greater yet, the call of something far more malevolent.

       ❝ The truth? ❞ A bark of laughter escaped him, void of warmth and humor. ❝ Him? He deals in nothing but deception and warped illusions. ❞ Lies, lies, lies!  ❝ No entity that lurks in the shadows can withstand the Light— ❞

       It abandons your soldiers. Abandons your battlefields. Abandons your homes. Abandons your cause. Abandons you.

       The dark seed sown— a matter of time—

       ❝ Be quiet, ❞ he muttered wretchedly, but to she who his steely gaze belonged or ethereal voices? Knuckles turned snowy around Shalamayne’s hilt and his teeth bared briefly in irritation. ❝ Be quiet! I am no pawn to N’Zoth. ❞ He labored a breath into lungs with no space, lifting his sword to point its tip to her, for she would find no resignation. No, not while Wrathion  — dear to Azeroth (dear to him) — hung futilely in the air, encased in her twisted machinations. This wouldn’t be his price for his endeavors to make a bastion of Azeroth’s people. ❝ Even without the Light, ❞ he continued amidst sharp inhalations, a wayward concession not made comfortably, ❝ the will of Azeroth’s protectors is far more formidable a force than you could ever believe. It is everlasting, and I will prove it to you. We will. It will be your demise if you don’t release him. ❞

Child of light argues, argues so brazenly, but oh she has seen so many argue before-- protest, deny, but each and every one of them had been broken, welcomed then to the fold, to the truth they had so willingly blinded themselves to. In time he would learn, was learning, for had the radiant King not already chilled? Dimmed? 

But time would bear the greatest of all fruits, a price worth having, a prize above all others. Such was as He told.

“Petulant,” she tsks, for now was not yet time to reap the harvest for all she sees then beautiful cracks in him and how easy it had been to sow such seeds. “Of course not,” she agrees, congenial, disinterested, a viper coiled within bed of roses. “You will be so much more.” But not yet, not now, and she better than any knew the boons of well placed patience.

Still, it hardly eased her ire at such brazen attitude, for who was he to interfere? To make demands? A puppet whose strings were yet to be tied. Her gaze turned to object of his upset, her quarry already won. An piece to play his part, just as young King was. “Your Light is abandoning you, as it does all.” For that was the greatest lie of Light, wretched thing that it was, even as Anduin continued cling so desperately. 

How perilous. 

“This foolish whelp is playing his part. As all will. As you will.” Soon enough.

#xanesh i am so sorry for whatever travesty i have committed to your character #but i dont care enough about u to do better.... #holyforged

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this is probably weird but i just wanted to tell you that i love the wranduin you two have made and your wrathion?? superb, thank you for putting so much love into him!! i love checking in on your blog occasionally to see threads with him and anduin because i can hear their voice in a bunch of them and i hope both muns have a lovely day!!

It’s not weird at all ;^; it’s really, really flattering to get feedback like this, and I super appreciate you taking the time to send me this ;;;; It always floors me a little when people say they read what I put out on this blog, and I’m sure Novi would share that sentiment regarding her own writing! Honestly, being able to work through all our stuff plotted between the two has been a joy, and it makes me so happy to hear others are enjoying it too.

@holyforged im tagging u because this relates to you

#⥑Ω⥏ ooc.

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holyforged​:

       ❝ I don’t believe the answer could be found easily in any station I possess, save for one. ❞ A small smile upturned Anduin’s lips, and for all that those titles were his to bear, modesty was the one that blanketed them all. ❝ I’m a priest. The Light is mysterious and works in ways we only wish we understood ― well, typically. In what I saw, the message was very clear. ❞

       He took a breath, casting his glance aside to his guards for a brief moment; stone pillars that they were, dauntless and unmoving, their features hidden under their helms. Though their minds surely wandered, opinions blooming unspoken, and while his affinity for the Light was not kept in secrecy, he’d never shared this before.

       That Wrathion was the first was almost amusing.

       ❝ That every life on Azeroth is precious, ❞ Anduin continued, turning his attention back to Wrathion. Resolve, a fierce fire, danced in his gaze. ❝ From the most seemingly insignificant one to the most beloved. We have to cherish and protect it ― all of us. The needless fighting between the Alliance and the Horde needs to end, and if the Burning Legion is coming, then all the more so. We have to rally together. ❞ Long had he yearned for peace, even in his short life; would the Black Prince be part of the key to achieving it? After they’d defeated the Burning Legion, could they cast aside their differences and bring harmony to an otherwise dissonant world?

       ❝ However, ❞ he began again, impassioned tone bidding its retreat in favor for a softer cadence, a lopsided smile, ❝ I can’t imagine that in current circumstances, that’s been the easiest goal to work toward, especially in regard to a vision. Has anyone called you insane yet? ❞

A priest, yes, but how inconsequential that had seemed to Wrathion compared to all else, and how mistaken he had also been in this very assessment it had been. Yet Anduin was not the first priest he had met-- many had come through these very doors, had even consigned themselves to him-- but none quite like this funny little human, with his funny little notions. 

And wasn’t that becoming remarkably common through this meeting. Anduin, a gem of faceted anomalies, each carved in, cut deep, until the cast was quite unlike ought else.

“I had been lead to believe Sight given by your precious Light was quite rare.” The Prophet was so venerated for that very reason of course, both in rarity and strength for his bond to the Light. The very same Prophet who had saved Anduin, had taught Anduin. A human child before him, Velen, one so terribly, terribly, old. What had the Prophet seen in him?

Another facet, another glinting mystery. “You’re quite right, only together can we hope to prevent the Legion burning this world as it has so many other. Though your father and Garrosh seem ill inclined to agree with such notions, which is a rather terrible inconvenience to me, no doubt.” But slowly, surely, he would push them all into line. They would play their parts when time came.

Snort came sharp, derisive, his own smile a cutting thing and terribly unfriendly. “Of course. Insanity runs in my family, after all, and what is a Black Dragon if not thoroughly insane? Why, I’m quite certain your dear guards think me as such, don’t you?” A wave to staunch men, churlish, goading, hubris set between he and such silly notions.

“Though most are smart enough not to say it to my face.” Soft tsk sounded as attention returned to Anduin, a frustration ever worn at the barriers his heritage might cause him. A terrible sort of inconvenience, but such was the nature of it. “But if it is insanity to want unity then perhaps the world could stand for more of it, no? Complacency, after all, breeds nothing but degradation. Insanity might also be called ingenuity when it gives desirable results. It is all about perspective I should think.

#my hand slipped :^( #holyforged #⥑Ω⥏ v. pandaria.

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Some WIP/sketches of Anduin and Wrathion exploring the Dragon Isles

#this art makes me so happy #⥑Ω⥏ appearance.

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holyforged​:

       A break in a carefully-laid façade, though truly, Anduin understood well ― perhaps better than many others ― the danger exposed in glinting teeth and sharpening stare. His acquaintance to it remarked even in their conversation, a reminder of what he’d endured at the hands of the Black Dragonflight, and still he bore no trepidation within his heart. Foolhardy, some would name the beat that roused him into action; to challenge a renowned warrior and nearly sacrifice his life to tell the tale, and now to face a creature known for peril and manipulation.

       But as he pressed his chin into his hand and listened, all but rapt attention paid to Wrathion’s brief recount of a vision, there was only curiosity. A compelling need to unravel more and scavenge what solidarity he might.

       ❝ Demonic fires and shattered worlds hurtling through the universe, ❞ Anduin murmured, ❝ and in the absence of life, a deafening silence. ❞ He recalled well and true the calamitous power of the Burning Legion in its might; recalled better yet the blinding brilliance of those whose healing song rang pure and true in the aftermath. His brows furrowed. ❝ We’re in agreement on that, at least. If the world is to suffer another invasion, our forces ― no, all of Azeroth ― cannot be split. That’s your goal, then? ❞

       It was all that made sense, though he was certain a black dragon heading the charge to unite people rather than create rifts was unheard of. 

It comes as a sudden shift, a change in the cards laid before him-- or perhaps, simply, a misunderstanding of the true nature of that which had so boldly presented itself to him. Gaze, sharp, critical, boars into Anduin in silent ignorance to his question, attempting to divine just what it was he had truly found himself confronted with.

He finds himself none the wiser, only embroiled deeper a fascination that left him desperately wanting to unpick. To unravel.

Soft clicks, a thoughtful rumble, sounds from back of throat as he pitched forward, attention undivided, mimic Anduin in turn as chin settled upon hand. “Just who are you, Anduin Wrynn?” Scarcely did Wrathion find himself confronted with a true mystery he could not unfold, let alone one that took form of summer sunshine haired mortal.

“The White Pawn. The Prince of Stormwind. Heir to the Alliance. A funny little human who runs off to confront an orc. Who seeks out one of the very creatures which near ruined everything for you. Who has seen the sky burn?” A question, but not at all. “How, I wonder, do these things all fit together.” Clatter as talons drummed wood, blink slow, steady, weighted with far, far more interest than he might have offered another before.

Oh, his ‘champions’ were a funny lot-- some even showed remarkable promise if fostered right, but inevitably they were little more than tools. Means to an end, and what a necessary end it was. Anduin had been quite right.

“Yes, that is my goal.” An answer, at last.

#holyforged #⥑Ω⥏ v. pandaria. #listen... he doesn't know yet... #stupid baby doesn't know how gay he gonna get #leave him alon